Abominations
by Jurana Keri
Summary: Eleanora has some unique abilities, but denies having them. Once she is accepted into the elite Miss Robicheaux's Academy, she has no idea what to expect or what is to come. Will she realize her true potential? What dark secrets lurk in her family's past? Who will be the next Supreme? (Written AU) (NOTE: Discretion is advised.)
1. Chapter 1

It had rained heavily that dreary summer's day, but she didn't mind one bit. She loved the feeling of nature washing her skin with its tears from the sky; the loved the refreshing scent of dewy grass as she passed by the lawns of neighboring houses; she loved the security of her favorite plain, gray hoodie as the raindrops fell mercilessly against the concrete of the sidewalk. She put her hands in the warmth of her pockets, her green eyes turning them up to the sky. Her girlish face was the victim of the downpour as she closed her eyes and parted her lips, concentrating on the clouds above.

Through her closed eyelids, she could see darkness gradually becoming light as she continued walking down the street back to her house. She felt a soft breeze caress her skin as the raindrops lessened in density; the clouds above slowly parted to reveal the golden sun, its rays cutting through the rain and solemnity of the day to shine down upon her rich, light blonde hair as she pulled back her hood. She grinned slightly, continuing to walk to her house that was only a few down the street. Suddenly, she gasped, seeing a ruckus in front of her abode.

"Get out!" a voice hissed loudly.

"Oh, c'mon, Helen," said an older man as he walked down the steps in a rush. He was pulling up his pants in the process, and as he was redoing his belt buckle, he looked up at the woman who had gracefully slinked out of the house dressed in nothing but a black, silk robe. "Not even a kiss goodbye?"

"Let me think," the woman said sarcastically. "No!"

The girl was scared out of her mind at the scene; she had never seen this man before, and he had never visited the house for any reason. She walked closer, taking her time and seeing the woman she called mother; her platinum hair, almost a white color, disheveled and her bright red lipstick smeared down to her chin and around the corners of her perfectly-shaped mouth. Her mascara, which was clumped in her thick, black eyelashes and dispersed on the delicate skin below her intense hazel eyes, made her look ghastly, as though she were a raccoon. Her black, silk robe did nothing to hide the enormous size of her breasts, and her nipples poked through them like sharp points. A cigarette was between her fingers as she told the man off, and the girl walked closer to the steps only to feel a tight grip overpower her upper arm—it hurt.

"Eleonora! Where have you been? Get in here!" her mother shrieked. The girl went along, intimidated by her mother as she was dragged in to the slamming of the front door.

Eleonora looked around, but then saw the dirtied-up face of her mother, who took a drag on her cigarette and sighed with aggravation, feeling the nicotine burn her lungs like it always had. Even under a heavy mask of makeup and garish cosmetics, Helen was an extreme beauty—her hair, when brushed and neatened, was wavy, shoulder-length, and platinum blonde. Her face was sculpted like glass, her cheekbones prominent with a heart-shaped jawline. Her eyes were an intense hazel color, and every time Eleonora, or anyone for that matter, looked into them, they felt a sense of fear—there was pure fire in them, and they burned with either love or hatred, feelings as intense as the heat of fire itself. Men drooled over her and quarreled with each other just to be in her bed after she got divorced from her husband; she was, in fact, quite youthful for someone of forty-six. Eleonora continued to look at her, but said nothing.

"Where have you been?" her mother hissed, furrowing her defined, darkly-filled eyebrows at her to express disdain.

"I…went for a walk," the girl replied timidly.

"It was raining, you could've caught a cold," Helen sneered, smoking her cigarette. "Are you stupid?"

"I like the rain," Eleonora said—she was used to her mother calling her names. She had done it for so long, she couldn't remember a time when she was actually nice to her.

"Well, it sure as hell don't like you," Helen chided, leaning close to her daughter and staring into her green eyes menacingly. "You stopped it, didn't you?" The girl turned red, looking at her mother before looking away in shame.

"N-No, I didn't," she replied. Helen scoffed and walked into the dining room, which had dark burgundy walls and black wainscoting—almost every room in their house was a shade of red or black.

"_Please_, if you're going to lie, be good at it," her mother sneered, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray on arrival to the dining room.

She took a seat, her heaving bosom making her silky bathrobe tighter as she positioned herself on the deep red cushioned chair at the head of the table; he crossed one of her smooth, flawless legs over the other, pointing one of her bare feet out as if to seduce a man, something she had always been good at. She watched Eleonora enter the room, and she looked her up and down condescendingly—her daughter, aged nineteen, was pretty in a girlish way, and even resembled her own mother to a degree. She had a lithe, willowy figure with small breasts and a small waist, her long, straight light blonde hair flowing down and framing her pretty face. Her eyes were a lively green color, and the bridge of her nose was dotted with a generous amount of freckles. The girl had also inherited a very unique set of gifts from her mother, who had got it from her own mother, and all the way back. It made Helen sick whenever her daughter denied the use of her abilities.

"Where do you think you got them from?" her mother sneered.

She stood up for a split second, and Eleonora's attention was grabbed by her mother's effortless concentration on the wicks of the candles in the center of the table. Helen had her finger extended, her manicured, blood red-painted fingernail noticeable as a flame was conjured from her mind. As she repeated the process with the other three candles, the girl felt a frigid chill move down her spine, making her weak in the knees as her green eyes fixated on the three flames.

"No matches needed," her mother cackled. "I also got something in the mail. Has your name on it."

"From who?" Eleonora asked. Helen pulled an envelope out from the inside of her black, satin robe and tossed it on the table in front of her, clasping her hands as if she were hoping to hear some news as Eleonora noticed the strange address before opening it, careful not to destroy the paper casing as she unfolded the letter and read:

"_Attn: Miss Eleonora Mortenson;_

_It is with great pleasure that we inform you of your acceptance into Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. We strongly urge you to take this once in a lifetime seriously, and we look forward to seeing you on our campus soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Cordelia Foxx_

_Headmistress_"

Eleonora had already applied for college, and was accepted to a community college in Tallahassee. She already had a literature major lined up for her, but she never remembered applying for this school in particular. She looked at her mother strangely, but kindly, and held the open letter up—the school's symbol, a triquetra with a serpent, mask, and bull's head, made itself known.

"Mom?" she asked. "What is this? I don't remember applying to this school."

"That's right, because _I_ applied to it _for_ you," Helen replied, taking a cigarette from her metal, floral-engraved case and putting it to her mouth, using her fiery powers to ignite the end before inhaling.

"Mom, I thought the plan was to go to Tallahassee for school. I'm going in September," Eleonora replied.

"And it's only June!" Helen exclaimed; her tone was manipulative. "We can change our minds."

"How did you apply for _me_?" Eleonora asked, keeping calm and careful of her words—she did not want to incur her fiery wrath.

"I have my ways," her mother replied slyly.

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_Mrs. Mortenson," Cordelia said with reluctance, staring at the woman in black sitting down—Helen's almond-shaped hazel eyes stared up at her, her sizeable cleavage shown at the top of her strapless black dress as she smoked a cigarette. A smirk was set in her ageless face, her cheekbones defined from the expression._

_"__My daughter is a _very_good girl, ma'am," Helen said, using her free hand to push her virgin snow-colored hair up and back to get a clear view of the tall blonde woman with deep brown eyes looking down at her, a peaceful look on her face._

_"__What can she do?" the woman asked. Helen tapped the ahs off her cigarette in the ashtray and sighed._

_"__She was _born_with these powers, ma'am," Helen began. "She can control the weather on a whim. She can lift objects with her mind. Hell, I even saw her when she was five years old. She cried when our cat died. She _loved_that cat, and the moment I see her pick it up, I tell her to put it down. She instead holds it close," Helen held out her arms to demonstrate her point, reflecting on the memory she was sharing with the headmistress of the academy, "just like if it were alive. Its eyes opened. It began to breathe, have a heartbeat! She brought it _back to life_, our own, sweet kitty. She was incredibly happy, and I was shocked out of my mind. We never had powers in our line like this, at least not to my knowledge."_

_"__Wait, your _line_?" Cordelia asked, taking a seat next to Helen, interested in what she had to say._

_"__Yes," the platinum-haired woman said, trying to manipulate her with her silver tongue. "My mother had powers, I have them, and my Eleonora has them. I think she would be the_ perfect_fit for your school. She will make new friends, be able to fully appreciate what was given to her, and she will learn discipline. She lacks discipline, and I have a feeling that is what you are all about here at your…_prestigious_academy."_

_Helen seemed to have a point—Cordelia's warm brown eyes looked into her fervent hazel ones, and she shook her head slightly with disbelief. The woman then remembered she had power over the mind, and Helen used it to its full advantage, focusing on the headmistress' thought form so she could do her bidding._

_"__Mrs. Mortenson," she said. "Even though your daughter is not with us now, you certainly…have a unique…uh…approach to getting our attention. We would like to meet Eleonora."_

_"__Excellent," Helen said without expression, taking her focus off the woman and gazing at the fireplace—it was cold, sooty, and without a flame._

_"__My question is this," Cordelia asked. "How did you know we…house young women o-of power?" They both stood up and Helen carried her bag on her shoulder, looking up into the brown eyes of the tall headmistress._

_"__Well, 'exceptional young ladies' isn't a term for just _any_school," the woman replied, putting her cigarette out in the ashtray. "They have to be exceptional for something. Don't you agree?"_

_"__Why, yes, Mrs. Mortenson," Cordelia said. "Well, we thank you for your time."_

_"__And I thank you for mine," Helen said with a slight smile, glancing over at the fireplace._

_It went ablaze, the force of the fire pushing the iron guard away from the hearth's opening—the clanking sound made Cordelia gasp; for once in her life, she looked at someone other than Fiona in fear._

_"__You might want to put logs in that fire," Helen said with a sly whisper. "It gets chilly."_

* * *

><p>Eleonora looked at her mother with disdain, feeling her lips purse down into a weak frown. Her thin eyebrows furrowed slightly, and she saw her mother stand up and approach her slowly with the cigarette, blowing the smoke right in her face.<p>

"Mom," she began. "I want to be normal. I…I appreciate that you went the extra mile, but you do also know I chose the community college. I made a commitment."

"Yeah? Marriage is also a commitment," Helen said. "Meant to last for only a period of time. Like a trial of sorts. Hell, look at your father and I." Eleonora revisited unpleasant memories of her parents fighting over the fact that she had been sleeping with another man; in fact, several at once. Her father had not only abandoned her mother, but ostracized her as well due to her intimidating powers.

"Mom, I'm not like you," the girl whined softly. "I want to be normal. I want to be a writer. I want to live a normal life, mom. Don't you see?"

"And don't _you _see?" Helen sneered, circling her daughter as she spoke. "Look at you, pathetic little thing. Letting her powers go to waste like it's nothing to be proud of. Hell, I gave them to you. The least you could do is be grateful for good genes." She scoffed, circling her the other way as she dragged and exhaled on her cigarette. "Normal life. You're not normal, Ellie-girl. Neither am I. Get used to it. Get used to it like the fact that you'll _never_ look as good as me. You don't amount to shit, especially with that attitude."

Eleonora was always chided and looked down upon by her own mother, and as she felt her heart crack ever so slightly from her hurtful words, she glanced at her blankly and obliviously—she_hated_ the fact that she had powers. _Hated_ it. She wanted nothing more than to be normal, and if that meant denying the fact that she could control the weather, move things with her mind, or resurrect dead things, then so be it. Aside from that, seeing her mother abuse her own powers made her insecure about her own, and Eleonora did not want to bear that guilt.

"I don't have powers," the girl said quietly.

"You do! Damn it, you _do_!" Helen shouted harshly, looking into her daughter's verdant eyes, taking a quick drag of her cigarette. "You don't realize how much you are capable of. You let your potential go to waste like a fruitcake at a party. Not fun." She walked toward the doorway and stared back at her daughter authoritatively. "You are _going_ to this school, and that's final!"

As her mother walked out of the room with her usual graceful slink, Eleonora suddenly felt a pang in her chest. A single tear ran down her cheek; she was used to the mental and verbal torment from her mother, but it never failed to bite into her heart like a mad, rabid dog. She held back tears, but not what whirled inside—it suddenly began to rain outside.

**A/N**

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**Thank you and happy reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

"Welcome to your new home, Miss Mortenson."

An eccentric old woman with bright red hair and a flamboyant fashion sense, who was accompanied by albino servants, led a scared-out-of-her-wits Eleonora down a seemingly endless hallway with quaint white paint and a regal air about it. One of the albino men held two of her suitcases filled with clothing and things she would need. Her mother had accompanied her on the ferry to New Orleans, and even managed to stay there. Helen had even put their house back in Florida up for sale so she could get a lovely apartment for herself in the French Quarter while Eleonora stayed at the academy.

"Let's start a new life," she had said. "Away from all the bullshit."

The strange old woman with red hair stopped and opened the door to reveal a simple, but elegant bedroom. She gestured for the young girl to go in, and she complied, smelling the fresh scent of clean linen and French lavender filling the room. She went to go sit on the edge of the bed, looking up and watching the albino man with her suitcases look at the woman silently, but with a curious face.

"Oh, right there on the dresser," she said in a shrill voice.

Eleonora looked up at the woman with curious green eyes, and then her eyes wandered around the room. The comforter on which she was sitting was soft and white, and the bed frame was made of coiled brass. The dresser, side tables, and the support of the window seat were all a deep mahogany, which reminded her of the dining table back at home. Suddenly, the shrill voice caught her attention, and she looked up to see it was the strange woman.

"You don't have to be afraid," she said. "I am Myrtle Snow. I'm very happy to see a new face around here. You'll make a fine addition to our school."

"When do classes start?" Eleonora asked, flinching slightly as Myrtle took a seat next to her on her bed. "And my major? They transferred my high school credits, right? So I can be a wri—"

"I'm sorry," Myrtle cut in. "This isn't _that_ kind of school."

"Oh," the girl muttered under her breath, discouraged. Myrtle smiled at her, peering at her through her large, horn-rimmed glasses as she took a tress of the girl's soft, straight hair and ran her fingers through it.

"Such a beautiful color," she crooned happily. "It is as though they took the brightest, most golden part of the sun and put it in your hair. It's so rich."

"Oh," Eleonora said with a girlish smile. "Thank you."

"And those freckles," Myrtle pointed out. "They make you look…_young_. How old are you?"

"Nineteen," she replied.

"Oh, that's a lovely age. I remember," the woman said to her. Then she stood up abruptly, leaving the room, but before she could, she turned around and looked at her. "Don't be afraid to look around, dear. This is your home, too, now," Myrtle said.

Eleonora took it upon herself to unpack half of her luggage before walking down the seemingly endless hallway to a grand staircase. She walked down the steps, slowly and curiously, and walked down the chandeliered atrium and gasped at the aesthetic quality of the ancestry room, a parlor of sorts that had Greek-style columns and a white stone fireplace with fire burning several pieces of wood. The furniture perfectly matched the walls and color scheme of the room, and it was quite luxurious and as much so as the crystal chandelier hanging above the sofa, lounge chairs, and coffee table. Ivory drapes adorned the antique glass windows, and a desk that matched the room was against the wall between the windows with picture frames hung up. As Eleonora reveled in her lavish surroundings, she heard footsteps—she turned her head to look behind her, but no one was there. When she looked to the side, she saw four hooded figures, robed in raven black with beaked doctor masks covering their faces.

"Eek!" the girl screamed as they came closer; she took consecutive steps back, looking at the figures in horror.

"No! Please! No! Don't hurt me!" Eleonora cried, holding her hands out in front of her—she was ready to use her powers at anytime to defend herself, but once they saw she was scared out of her wits, a young woman with honey blonde hair, light brown eyes and an attractive face removed her mask, squirming at her condescendingly.

"We're just messing with you," she snorted. "Madison Montgomery." Eleonora recognized her immediately as the famous child star who had received bad publicity in magazines for substance abuse. The next to remove her mask was a dark haired young woman with slanted eyes and a massive double chin.

"I'm Nan. Hi," she said kindly with smiling black eyes—Eleonora noticed she had Down syndrome. An obese African-American young woman, probably of her own age, removed hers next. It was just then that she lowered her hands back down to her sides and stood up straight.

"Queenie," she said in a lower pitched voice than the rest of them. The last to remove her mask revealed a warm, lovely face with honey brown eyes, light brown hair, and a kind countenance.

"We're sorry we scared you," she said. "I'm Zoe. And you are?" Eleonora looked at their faces and took a moment before answering, gulping really hard to contain her nervousness.

"Eleonora," she said.

"It's nice to see a new face," Queenie said. "Where're you from?"

"F-Florida."

"Palm Beach?" Madison asked, her snobby demeanor making Eleanora feel uneasy and queasy.

"No, it's a small town," Eleanora answered, looking her straight in the eye. "You wouldn't know."

"Oh." There she went again, being a snob.

"Hm, you're quite interesting," Zoe said, stroking her chin gently. "I can't wait for dinner. We can talk about why you were brought here, and—"

"What are you doing to her? Don't scare her," a voice said.

All five girls turned to look at a tall woman with glasses, blonde hair, and warm brown eyes. She was wearing a black dress with matching pumps and was holding a rather old book in her clutch. Eleonora was particularly curious, especially as she walked toward them authoritatively, but she gave off a good vibe to her. Her eyebrows were perfectly groomed and her shade of lipstick was a sparkly nude. Madison glared at her and took a sigh.

"We were just messing with her. She's a scaredy-cat," she sneered.

"Don't call her that, Madison," the woman said, her focus on the girl with rich blonde hair and freckles. "She is just what we've been searching for."

"Huh?"

"Hello, I'm Cordelia Foxx, and it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Mortenson," she said kindly, extending her hand to introduce herself. Eleonora took it and shook it politely, nodding her head even though she was confused. If this wasn't a college, what was it?

"Hello," she replied shyly. She bit her lower lip.

"I understand you are nervous about being here, but there's nothing to be afraid of," Cordelia said. "You are just like everyone here. We are all different in our own ways."

"I can sense she's doubtful," Nan said, her fingers to her temples. "_Very_ doubtful."

"Uh, no," Eleonora said. "I'm just confused."

Nan was right, though, but she didn't want to readily admit it. Cordelia extended her hand to the timid blonde girl, and she reluctantly took it, leading her down the hall away from the five girls. As they left, Zoe looked at Eleonora with a sense of sympathy. She knew exactly how she was feeling, as she had felt the same when being sent there by her own mother after accidentally killing her boyfriend during sex. It only made her wonder what kind of powers Eleonora harbored within, and what she was capable of fully unleashing with her inclusion in their 'school'.

"Ma'am," the young girl said to Cordelia. "I don't know what's going on, but I was supposed to go to college in Tallahassee. My mother sent me here, but I want to be a writer. A literature major. Do you guys have that here?"

"Dear, this is no ordinary school. In fact, it isn't a school," Cordelia replied, continuing their walk to the dining room, where they sat down in the luxurious chairs. She continued her explanation about what was going on, and an eager Eleonora listened.

"We, in fact, did start off as a school for privileged girls. The academy was found in 1790. In the Civil War, this building was turned into a military hospital. In 1868, Marion Warton, the first Supreme of our coven, reclaimed the school as a cover-up. You see, Eleonora," she continued; the girl listened in shock, "this place is a safe one to keep people like you safe. We are here to hone and practice our powers, and to put them to use in whatever ways we see fit. We…are witches."

_Witches_. The thought made Eleonora gasp slightly in shock—she had never previously thought about the possibility that she, her mother, and her mother's mother were witches. Her green eyes sparkled strangely into Cordelia's dark brown ones, and she looked away in shock, sighing sadly. All she wanted was to be normal, to live a normal life without powers. She had seen too much abuse of power by her mother during her lifetime that she didn't want to end up to be the woman her mother became—mean, ruthless, heartless, promiscuous. Even if she was able to control the weather, she couldn't help it—she had been born with it. She began shaking her head frantically.

"What's wrong?" Cordelia asked.

"I'm not a witch," Eleonora blurted. "I…I need to get out of here."

"Eleonora, it isn't bad that you have abilities," the woman told her, watching the girl get out of her seat and pace around nervously.

"I don't have abilities!" she shouted. "I'm normal. Just like everyone else outside this house."

"Your mother told us everything," Cordelia said. Eleonora's eyes widened, and she turned to look at the woman in shock—_is that how she got me in here_, she asked herself, _the nerve_.

"_What_?"

"Yes, she did. You're very gifted, you shouldn't let it go to waste," Cordelia said gently, trying to coax her out of her delusion of being 'normal'. She stood up and looked down into the girl's verdant eyes, putting her hands on her shoulders. "You are _very_ special, Eleonora. You have a gift that none of us have; controlling weather is the one I'm talking about. Then, I heard you have telekinesis and the power to revive the dead. Vitalum Vitalis."

Eleonora said nothing, letting her ears absorb the false fallacies—_I'm not a witch_, she thought, _there is no way_. Her warm brown eyes looked convincing, but Cordelia was not being mean; in fact, not even close. She was only trying to appease the girl and make her feel comfortable in her surroundings. She blinked a few times, licking her drying lips and biting the lower one.

"This establishment is crucial to our survival," she continued. "It's not a nunnery. It's not a jail. It's a safe haven for girls like you. You'll be safe here." She took a sad, but calm sigh. "Our very existence is always at risk."

"At risk?" Eleonora asked, having calmed down by Cordelia's gentle demeanor.

"Yes. It is important that none of us are caught. People just don't understand us," the woman replied, taking her hands off her shoulders. "Like Misty Day. The poor woman…"

"W-What happened to her?" the girl asked with concern.

"She was burned," Cordelia replied. "I…I was going as fast as I could to stop those Bible-beaters from harming her. They just…relentless."

"Oh."

Suddenly, Eleonora felt very sad. Cordelia knew, however, not to frighten the girl with explicit details on the poor victim—she was so similar to her. She looked down, her rich light blonde hair slowly cascading down the sides of her face. The woman lifted her chin up and made eye contact, a smile on her face. Finally, Eleonora was curious rather than afraid.

"Who is the Supreme? You just mentioned her," she asked timidly.

"Fiona Goode," Cordelia replied. "She's been away for quite some time, but—"

"She will return sooner rather than later," Nan said, sprinting toward the two with a smile on her face. "I see it."

"Well, that's good to know," Cordelia said; she then glanced at Eleonora and whispered. "She is clairvoyant."

"Ah," Eleonora said, glancing at the charming Down syndrome girl with dark hair and eyes and a larger-than-life grin. Cordelia smiled at the girl and patted her back, leading her down toward two elegant, glass French doors.

"Let's get you settled, shall we?"

Eleonora walked along with the tall, gracious woman, passing through several ivory-draped windows. She glanced over, slightly concentrating on the windowpanes as they burst open, letting a gush of wind blow the translucent white curtains around. Suddenly, the sound of thunder made itself known in the distance.

**A/N:**

**It's Keri, here! I have been trying to stay true to the ****_Coven _****storyline with this fanfic, but I am adding my own spin on it with OCs and events. As chapters progress, you will notice things getting more and more different from the actual storyline.**

**Anyways, everyone loves feedback—please leave Reviews, and if you like the story, please give it a Follow or Favorite. Thank you! **


	3. Chapter 3

_KA-CRASH!_

"Julie? It's thundering out!"

In the swamp of the backwoods near New Orleans, Chase ran to catch up to his sister, who had been looking for herbs to use in her workings. A refreshing, misty rainfall fell gracefully on the trees and on them—Chase was not bothered by water one bit, but he hated thunder; it scared him so. His stormy gray eyes were filled with fear as his mittened hands rubbed together. He hoped for the intimidating natural sound to stop.

"Stop! Julie! I'm serious! Wait up! I'm scared," he expressed with anxiety, running farther up to her as the laces of his shoes began to untie.

Julie, his fraternal twin, had crouched down near a tree, taking out a white-handled knife intending for the harvesting of herbs and taking the blade to the thin, green stem of a very leafy-looking plant. She effortlessly cut the stems of several leaves, putting them in a small Ziploc bag of many she had brought with her. She had harvested five different kinds of herbs that day, and when it started to storm, their trail in the backwoods became slower and slower. Chase curiously peered down at his sister, her deep indigo-colored hood covering her intense, layered hair.

"What's that?" he asked, his gray eyes curious as a kitten.

"Tarragon," Julie replied in her soft-spoken tone.

"I forget what that's for," Chase said with confusion. Julie looked back up into his eyes—hers were also gray, but slightly darker and more intense.

"Protection," she replied kindly, taking a leaf to her nose to sniff the fresh scent before putting it in the Ziploc bag.

"Can we go now?" Chase asked. "There's thunder and I'm getting scared."

"I thought I told you before," Julie said, standing up as the ankle-length skirt of her purple dress smoothed itself out. "A little thunder is good for the soul."

"Not for mine. But the rain isn't bothering me," he replied, adjusting his baseball cap that covered his dark blonde hair.

"A little rain is cleansing," Julie said, walking down the trail toward the marshy bayou.

Even though the ambiance of misty rain and rolling thunder took up the environment, Chase smiled at the water and giggled like a little boy during the holiday season, running toward the edge and looking down at the algae-filled, but healthily green water that was murky and somewhat dirty. Cattails stuck straight up out of the swampy pond, swaying in the wind with a few flies buzzing around the water as the mist created an eerie fog over the vicinity. Chase looked down and crouched, leaning his head down to lap up the water like a thirsty horse. Julie tapped his shoulder, crouching down next to him discouragingly.

"Don't drink that!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "You're going to get sick." He picked his head up and sighed, the taste of soil and earth running down his throat with the water he consumed.

"I'm thirsty," he said.

"Well, don't drink that," Julie said calmly; she suddenly had an idea, standing up with Chase as she glanced at him. "Watch this."

Julie removed her hood, revealing her shoulder-length, layered ice blonde hair and her marble-white skin seemed to glow in the darkness of the clouds and thunder overhead. She had striking, albeit unusual, beauty—her lips were heart-shaped with a full pucker created by the illusion of her lip gloss. Her eyes were an intense storm gray; very soulful, indeed, and always made up with neutral eyeshadow shades with a darker crease for definition. Her eyelashes were not particularly long, but they were raven black and full, and her eyebrows were shaped and filled with light brown pomade. Her face shape was a cross of round and heart, and her nose was straight and perfect. Her beauty was ghostly, to say the least. She reached out her hand, focusing on the water of the marshy bayou, and concentrated until it began to solidify, cracking and crystallizing densely as the entire area began to freeze. Julie had turned the marsh to ice with her mind alone, and Chase smiled softly at her, amazed at her power.

"Wow!" he exclaimed with excitement. "Let's skate!"

"No, you could fall through," Julie warned, trying to hold him back; however, Chase continued and his sneakers slid him right onto the frozen water's surface. He laughed as if he were a child, and slid around in a playful dance. He was pretending to be a figure skater, and Julie watched as she shook her head. _He's thirty but acts like his shoe size_, she thought, giggling as she watched her twin brother have fun on what she created.

"Come on! It's so much fun!" Chase exclaimed playfully, going out further in the frozen

water of the bayou, passing by a few erect cattails as lighting began to form in the sky.

Julie looked up and then looked at her brother with concern, but suddenly, the appearance of a faerie-like woman stood on a rock. She was very pretty, maybe more so average, with curling, freely-flowing honey blonde hair, no makeup to cover her natural beauty, and a rather bohemian style to her clothing. In her hair hung two black feathers, and she wore a long dark green maxi skirt, a black tank top under a kimono-like floral top that tied in the front to meet with where her multiple pendants hung. She saw her expression, and Julie took it as her being upset.

"Excuse me?" the woman called out. "Why's the swamp all frozen?" Chase, who had unwittingly slid his feet over a patch of black ice, felt his weight crack it, and as a chunk fell in, he let out a scream in fear, attempting to run back to his sister on the brink of the marshy bayou on thicker ice only to slip forward and hurt his chin.

"Chase!" Julie exclaimed. The woman, who felt guilty for possibly frightening the man, rushed to her side to try and help out in any way she could. The woman gasped at the sight of Julie, who was as white as a polar bear with her hair and skin, but walked closer.

"Oh no, ow!" Chase shouted. "Help me! Get me up! I'm gonna fall!"

"Let me help," she offered.

"Alright, thank you so much," Julie replied, carefully walking on the ice with her black leather, shin-length flat boots as to not fall through—the mysterious bohemian woman followed close behind.

"How'd this get frozen? We don't got snow down here," the woman asked again.

"Help me!" he exclaimed again, beginning to panic.

"I'll explain after, miss," Julie said as she looked over at the woman, crouching down slightly once she reached her brother, who was crying from the pain caused by hitting his chin on the ice. She extended her hands, and he had difficulty grabbing them; he was wearing mittens for a reason, and she tried her best not to take them off. The woman reached for the other gloved hand, feeling almost nothing under the fabric as she gripped his palm.

"Ready, set…pull!"

He was immediately pulled away from the hole that nearly made him fall through, and he slid against the frigid, crystallized surface, weeping as a trail of blood from his chin became evident on the glacial bayou. Once he was brought back to solid land, he looked up at his sister, who crouched down to look at his injury. It did not look severe, but there was a gash that could potentially leave another scar aside from the slight burn mark near his left eyebrow. His face was red with tears, and the rain began to grow heavier as seconds passed. The woman, who also crouched down to see what happened to him, sighed with sympathy, her blue eyes sparkling at him. Chase focused on her, and she held his gloved hand.

"I have something in my shack for that cut. It ain't far from here," she said. "I'm Misty, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"Hello," Julie said, looking back at the icy atmosphere she created. "I'm Julie. This here is Chase."

Suddenly, an anguished Chase reached his free hand out, concentrating on the frigid, crystallized water as it melted before him. The cattails went limp, and the green color in the water returned from its glacial white tinge as it cracked and thawed back into its liquid state. Misty watched in awe at the sight of the man manipulating the water of the bayou, and once every last piece of icy water shrunk, he waved his hand out in such a way that a ripple effect came to the water.

"How…uh…" She stammered, thinking of the right words to say; then she remembered her task. "Let's get you to my shack. I have something that will help."

Julia and Chase took her offer up—there was no need to allow his cut to turn into an infection, and when Misty opened the door, they looked around and saw colorful tapestries, door beads, unlit candles, an incense ash catcher, a large dream catcher with feathers and beads up on the wall above her bed, and a stereo with a record, cassette, and CD player combo with an ornate rug on the floor in front. On the wall with the stereo were several posters of Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac, even the cover of their _Rumours_ album. Chase sat down on a bean bag chair near the stereo, and Misty was looking through her drawers for a tincture in a glass bottle to heal cuts. Once she pulled it out, Julie looked at her with fascination._She's just like me_, she thought.

"Here," Misty said, sitting in front of the man with the cut chin and taking a clean cloth, pouring some of the tincture into the fabric. "This won't hurt a bit, so you just stay still."

"Ok," Chase replied.

She gently dabbed the cloth onto his chin, and he winced gently, shutting his eyes as Julie stood and watched her help her brother. Misty was still wicked curious about how the marsh, the place she called home, suddenly froze in the middle of summer. She also wondered how the man was able to melt the ice and turn it to water. She looked into his calm, stormy gray eyes with her clear blue ones and smiled—Chase smiled back, even though it hurt his chin.

"All better?" she asked.

"Yeah, thank you, miss," Chase replied with a chuckle.

"You're polite," Misty said.

"Well, I can't be mean. You saved me, and my sister saved me," he said. "Do you live all by yourself here?"

"Yeah, I do. I'm quite happy and content here," Misty replied with a smile, a slight blush to her cheeks.

Chase was actually quite handsome despite his immature, child-like behavior and lower-than-average intelligence. He had dark blonde hair hidden under his baseball cap, and his face was sculpted from the cheekbones up, and his jawline was square. He also had slight scarring near his eyebrow, most likely a burn, but from a source as yet unknown. However, he was only five foot-seven, shorter than the average male and his sister, even. He was lanky, not sculpted at all, and thin. Neither of the twins knew their birth order, but he was always thought to be the younger one and not by very long. He always wore a pair of gray mittens, even when it was hot outside, and he always was cheerful and happy with a lust for life even if it were through the eyes of a child.

"So, I'm still curious," Misty began, glancing back at the icy-haired Julie. "How did the bayou get frozen up like that?"

"I did it," the icy-blonde woman replied.

"You did? _How_?"

"I was born with these powers," Julie replied, sitting down in the other beanbag chair. "I don't know where I got them, but I have them."

"I can do that with water," Chase said with a blush as Misty put a bandage on his chin wound. "We both have powers. It's amazing, because I can swim!"

_KA-CLASH!_

"Ah!"

"Afraid of thunder?" Misty asked.

"Oh yeah, I hate thunder," Chase said with a grimace. "Gets me all scared." Julike shook her head, moving her side bangs off her forehead and leaning inward, looking at her brother.

"Chase, you're overreacting," she said. "Thunder won't hurt you."

"I don't like it," he replied. Misty looked up at him, and then to Julie, smiling warmly with her perfect, straight teeth.

"You're welcome to stay here 'til it subsides," she offered. "I'd hate to see y'all get soaked and scared."

* * *

><p>Dinner—the most fulfilling meal of the day, all prepared by Spalding, the mysterious mute butler. Eleonora was sitting at one end of the table; down her left were kind-faced Zoe and snobby Madison, and to her left were cheerful Nan and sassy Queenie. A few empty seats remained, but Cordelia sat on the other end of the table, looking at everyone as they ate and told stories about their powers and abilities.<p>

"Hey, can I have some iceberg lettuce and a side of blue cheese?" Madison asked Spalding as he placed a bowl of soup in front of her.

"Girl, be nice to Spalding," Queenie chided, looking at her as though she were nothing more than a normal person off the street. "You know he don't got no tongue."

"Is that true?" Madison asked, looking up at the butler teasingly. "Do you use your tongue for something _wicked_? Or maybe you _suck_ at going down." Eleonora's eyes widened at this statement—it reminded her of the strange sexual innuendos her mother would reference after sleeping with a new man. _Gross_, she thought—meanwhile, Spalding tossed a plate on the table next to Zoe with frustration and began to walk away, pushing the service cart out of the room.

"Oh, come on!" the former child star exclaimed with incredulity. "Show us your stuff! Maybe we can put it to use!"

The entire table looked at Madison and rolled their eyes, especially Queenie, who continued to look at her like she was nothing. Madison looked around, and then looked down at the end of the table to see Eleonora staring down at her plate of food—she did not have a good appetite built up for the evening. The events of the day were enough to stress her out.

"Hey, new girl," she sneered; Eleonora's green eyes drew upwards toward Madison. "What are you in for?" _What is this, prison_, she asked herself.

"She's gifted," Nana blurted.

"Nan," Queenie interrupted. "Shut up before you get your ass in trouble."

"What can you do?" Madison asked, looking down at the girl with rich, light blonde hair; Eleonora took a bite of food to prevent herself from answering. _I have no place here_, she thought to herself delusionally.

"She can control weather," Nan said with a smile as she tapped into her psychic abilities. "How exciting! And she has telekinesis and can raise the—"

"Girl, are you deaf or just stupid?!" Queenie exclaimed, looking to Nan at her side. Madison kept her soft, light brown eyes on the girl at the end of the table, who took another bite and washed it down with her glass of water.

"So, tell us more about what you can do," she suggested haughtily. "Don't spare any details, ok?" Eleonora stared at her, but continued to eat in pure silence. _I'm not telling you anything,_ she thought. However, she swallowed and looked at Zoe, whose countenance was as curious as a kitten, and then to Madison.

"Why are _you_ here?" she asked timidly. The former child star sighed and placed her glass down, her wrists on the table as she began to digress.

"Well, my agent staged an intervention," Madison began. "Ever since my drunk and disorderly I get blamed for all kinds of shit that I didn't do."

"But you _did_ it," Nan said, her tone slightly fanatic. "You killed the man."

"I get it, bitch! You're clairvoyant!" Madison hissed snottily. There was a moment of silence, and she took a sigh, looking over at Eleonora again.

"So, you want to know what happened?"

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_Hi, boys," Madison recited, her lines down pat as she wore a sparkly pink evening gown, a gorgeous up-do, and a feather fan in her hands as she walked out on stage. "So glad you all could come. Gee, is it hot in—"_

_"__Cut!" the director declared. "You're still not hitting your mark."_

_"__I'm doing my best," the young girl had said, looking down at her seated director. He soon got up, approaching the stage and speaking didactically._

_"__That's the light," he said as he pointed upward. "If you don't hit your mark, that light can't hit you!"_

_That was the final straw—Madison Montgomery, teen star of stage and film, had enough of his demands, his taunts, his leers. She then looked up at the light, concentrating on it as it began to wiggle slightly out of position. It unscrewed itself from the set, and it fell so fast it crushed the director's head. _

* * *

><p>"The light hit <em>him<em> just fine, though," Madison said, finishing her story.

"All he said was 'hit your mark,'" Queenie quoted. "Why don't you do the world a favor and take an acting class, you botoxed bimbo."

Madison was losing her patience, and everyone could see that—she lifted a hand and used the power of her mind to tip Queenie's dinner plate on her lap, soiling the bottom of her shirt with mashed potatoes, brown gravy and meat fragments. The obese girl looked down in shock, getting angry with the snobby star as she took her plate and slammed it on the table before her, grabbing the unused knife on the folded napkin to her side and laying her hand flat on the table and stabbing it—Eleonora's jaw dropped as she looked in horror, glancing quickly over at Madison, who hand was emanating blood.

"OOW!" she shrieked. "Stop it! You bitch!"

"Stop _what_?!" Queenie barked, twisting the blade in her hand and causing more pain to Madison. "I don't feel _nothing_! I'm a human voodoo doll!"

"OW!"

"You like it?! Huh?" Queenie continued, and Nan got up, holding the girl's fleshy arm as she struggled to get her pull the knife out of her hand.

"Stop it!" the Down syndrome girl commanded, successfully pulling the knife from Queenie, who then reached for the carving knife near the roast on the table—she took the blade to her throat as if to slit it, looking at Madison menacingly.

"I'll do it!" she threatened harshly, pursing her lips inward as she gritted her teeth.

Eleonora couldn't take it anymore—just being at the academy with the witches, or rather, girls like her, made her feel ill at ease. Even the possibility of she herself being a witch was hard to wrap her brain around. She felt all the anxiety in the world build up within her, much like the friction of clouds during a storm; she suddenly jumped from her seat and expressed her extreme disdain, slamming her open palms on the table.

"STOP IT!"

_KA-CRASH!_

The winds blew open at the speed of light; heavy rain blew in like a torrential downpour; the wind was heavy and strong enough to blow everything in the room around; the ivory drapes were nearly ripped off the walls; the fine china and the food on them swirled like a tornado in the middle of the room, and Zoe was nearly blown out of her seat in a violent manner. Madison and Nan screamed at the top of their lungs, and the Down syndrome girl hung onto Queenie for dear life as she felt her feet being picked up by heavy monsoon Eleonora had invoked using only her mind and emotions. Cordelia had fallen out of her seat and was on the floor, resting on her stomach as the wind pulled her away into the atrium of the house like a ghost in a haunted mansion. Zoe was hanging onto the leg of the table, and Madison, whose mink fur coat was getting drenched and ruined, screamed as her hair was messed up in the process.

"STOP IT! MY HAIR! _HELP_! CORDELIA!" the vain, snooty young woman called out just before the wind had a chance to subside.

"PLEASE! STOP!" Nan called out, the storm in the room subsiding even more.

"REALLY, GIRL?!" Queenie asked, her eyes gently opening from squinting as a result from the monsoon in the room.

Everyone's clothing was wet, even Eleonora's, and she felt her horror increase as the storm she summoned faded—she was terrified at what she had done. Plates that had fallen were now broken shards of white china on the floor, the same with the glasses that stored their drinks; the beautiful roast was now soaked with rainwater; the tablecloth was upturned at the corners and soiled with their dinners; napkins both clean and used were laying on the floor; the vase centerpiece had flowers that wilted from the overwhelming torrential downpours that came in from outside; the windows hung open; the beautiful ivory curtains were drenched beyond compare; Eleonora's hair was now darker and more golden, saturated and dripping with water as if she had taken a shower right then and there. Cordelia, who got back up on her feet, had smeared nude lipstick and messy hair as she walked into the messy, wet dining room slowly—_that woman was right_, she thought, _this girl_ is_powerful. I can see why she's so afraid now_.

* * *

><p><em>Now I've done it.<em>

_I screwed up._

_They'll kick me out._

_Maybe I'll go to Tallahassee __like I planned to._

_They're like me, but I want to live a normal life._

_That girl was so angry—they must hate me now._

_My mom will so mad if she finds out I broke china and damaged their dining room. _

_She'll burn me to ash if she has to pay for the damages._

_I'm such a screw-up._

_Maybe I'll try again, hopefully I'll succeed. _She rolled up her sleeve, looking down at the vertical scar that had been inflicted several years before in the center of her wrist.

_They say three times a charm. At least I won't hurt anybody anymore. I don't want to be like mom._ Suddenly, she heard familiar voices from outside of her room's door; it was definitely two of the girls.

"She ruined my coat," Madison sneered. "She's paying for _all_ the damages, I'll see to it."

"She can't help it," Zoe replied quietly. "I think she's suppressed her powers for a long time and can't control them well enough."

"Bull_shit_!" Madison responded, chiding her fellow witch. "Fiona's going to be ballistic when she gets back. You know how she is when she's pissed off!" Suddenly, her smartphone vibrated—she took it out of her pocket and looked down, seeing a tweet had been sent to her. She smirked triumphantly.

"Frat party tonight," she said. "Just got the tweet." She looked at Zoe condescendingly, seeing her clothing and scoffing. "You can borrow something of mine."

"I think we should let Eleonora come, too," the girl said. Madison's jaw dropped—_seriously_, she thought. The idea of her coming with them made her suddenly queasy.

"Are you _crazy_?"

"Maybe she needs a bit of down time?" Zoe suggested, making a point. "She needs to have some fun. Maybe blow off some steam."

"She blew off some _wind_, that's for sure!" Madison exclaimed. "She's _not _coming!"

"Fine, then I won't go," Zoe said, throwing her hands up in the air as she walked toward Eleonora's closed bedroom door.

"She's going to zap you with lightening or bury you under six feet of snow!" Madison warned cynically; Zoe continued and knocked on the door nervously, but there was no answer.

"Eleonora? Are you in there?" The girl with light blonde hair had been sitting on her bed; she didn't answer. Zoe sighed, taking another approach.

"Can I come in? It's Zoe," she asked, her shy self sounding timid. "I'm sorry we—"

"Come in," Eleonora said.

The girl opened the door, and stepped in—strangely, the light wasn't on, so she took the liberty of flicking on the side lamp, looking at Eleonora's serene but sad-looking face as she sat down with her on the bed. The blonde looked at Zoe, admiring her calm, honey brown eyes, her long light brown hair, and her calm, but shy expression. Her lips were slightly parted, and Eleonora felt anxious.

"Are you ok?" Zoe asked.

"I will be," Eleonora said.

"I'm sorry if we scared you at dinner," the girl with honey brown eyes said—Madison leaned against the open doorway, watching the scene with an incredulous expression. "Queenie can be…uh…very sassy. I try to stay out of it." Eleonora remained quiet—_I don't belong here_, she repeated in her head. Zoe took notice and smiled sadly, a sparkle in her eye as hers met with the blonde's green ones.

"You don't have to be afraid of us. You don't have to be afraid of yourself, either," she said encouragingly. "In fact, where did you get your powers? How did you discover them?"

"I was born with them," Eleonora said softly after an awkward silence—Madison kept the same snooty facial expression, listening to their dialogue.

"Why do you deny it?" Zoe asked with concern.

"Because I don't want to hurt anyone," the blonde replied morosely, looking down.

"You didn't hurt _us_," she said. "We're still alive."

"You messed up my hair _and_ ruined my mink fur coat, but other than that, you didn't strike me with lightning," Madison cut in, sneering coldly at Eleonora, who glared at her sadly. Zoe scoffed at the snobby movie star, looking at her with disbelief.

"Madison, stop," she commanded, turning back to look at Eleonora, the shame in her verdant green eyes evident as her freckled cheeks turned red with a blush.

"Well, she and I are going to a party tonight," Zoe said. "We were hoping you could come with us. Maybe…you know…make some new friends?"

"Huh?" _A party_, she thought, _no one would notice me anyways. They never have_.

"Yeah. Uh…Madison will let you borrow one of _her_ dresses," she said; Madison's jaw dropped and she shook her head. _How dare she_, she thought, _bitch_.

"Oh, hell no!" she blurted. "So she can ruin that, too?"

"Madison!" Zoe exclaimed. "Let her borrow one of your dresses." Her stare turned suggestive. "Don't be _rude_."

"Fine," she said reluctantly, tossing her hands in the air with aggravation. Suddenly, the weather outside went from rain to calm—it had stopped.


	4. Chapter 4

Green and blue strobe lights flashed in the vicinity; loud music with a killer bassline amplified from the DJ's equipment; young college-aged men and women had red cups in their hands, and some had even danced as the three powerful girls made their way into the frat party—they felt fresh to death wearing their sleek party dresses. Zoe's was form-fitting and black with a cut-out on the neckline near the right strap. Madison's was white and somewhat translucent with a gold corset-like bodice that pushed her breasts up. Eleonora, however, was given one of Madison's older dresses that no longer fit her and was less attractive than what the other two were wearing—it was white, but had a red sash and a skirt that reached to above her knees with a hem that was decorated with a floral decal. For shoes, she was wearing her best pair that were peep toe booties with a heel. They laced up, and on the sides were flat, silver-like studs; in general, her outfit was strangely awkward—the boots and dress did not match.

"Should we get drinks?" Zoe asked.

"You go," Madison said, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. Zoe sighed and looked at Eleonora, who stared back as the strobe lights flashed against her light blonde hair.

"Come with me," she suggested.

"Ok."

They walked over to a table with a thin fountain on its surface, that projectiled upwards and straight as not to make a mess. Eleonora followed Zoe, the color of her rich light brown hair being her guide as she stopped; she saw her eyes meeting with those of a handsome stranger—the blonde glanced over and smiled softly, her lips parting to see the young man wearing a dark-colored letter jacket with the Greek letters Kappa Lambda Gamma on the left breast lapel. His hair was blond and neatly styled, a slight wave tucked behind his ear, and his eyes were great and dark, intimidatingly intense and deep as he stared at Zoe, immediately smitten.

"Zoe?" Eleonora began in a whisper. "He's looking at you." Her soft talking didn't do anything to faze her; it were as though she was in a trance, and the song changed to a slower tune at just the right moment—it was like magic. Yet the music was still too loud to hear the timid girl.

"Hey," the young man said. "I'm Kyle."

"Zoe," she said, still in her trance. Eleonora was amazed at how fast they seemed to like each other; she took a cup of beer from the table and sipped it, looking at her new friend and feeling awkwardly nervous.

"Uh…Zoe, I'll leave you to alone," she said.

"Alright. I'll see you in a bit," Zoe replied with an ecstatic smile as Kyle made his way around the table to socialize with the extraordinary girl; _she's beautiful_, he thought, _I can't believe it_. He took a beer cup from the table and gave it to her with a charming smile; Zoe took it and looked at him with a smirk.

"Here, a drink," he said in a friendly manner.

"Is that your superpower? To rehydrate people?" she asked with a snicker.

"That's one of 'em," he said.

He had a strange, but fascinating charm about him, and it made Zoe want to know him more. However, she knew that it wouldn't work out with him—she had a deadly power, and it had cost her big time before when her boyfriend died during sex. The next two hours, they socialized, albeit in only brief conversations, but Kyle enjoyed her company; he admired her, and although she didn't speak much, he still found her shyness cute.

"I think you're really pretty," Kyle finally said, boldly with a charming smile, sipping his drink and keeping his deep, dark eyes fixed on her. "You know, you're, like, the first hot girl I've met who doesn't wanna talk about herself."

"Oh," Zoe said shyly with a blush.

"There's gotta be something wrong with you," he said, shaking his head and leaning down on the table, which was high enough for him to comfortably rest his elbow on. His palm collected his brow and he shook his head. "I know, you have a boyfriend. Is that it?"

"No, I don't," she replied after a moment of silence.

Kyle was quite surprised—in his eyes, Zoe was too beautiful to be single. He parted his fingers and looked at her through them, smirking slightly as he kept it going for a few brief moments more. Zoe looked at him blankly, the bright strobe lights changing to purple and red hues as they shared a silent, but intimate moment together. She began to wonder what Madison and Eleonora were up to, so she glanced away and looked around the floor at the large crowd of dancing, drinking and socializing young adults—Madison was no where to be seen, but she could see Eleonora standing secluded from everyone. No one was around her; no boys, no girls, no one—she just stood there as if to only exist and breathe air. Her green eyes seemed to stare off into space, and her long, straight light blonde hair was loose and hung down to her shoulders, framing her freckled face nicely. Zoe somehow sensed she was uncomfortable, and indeed she was.

"Everything ok?" Kyle suddenly asked.

"Oh, uh…my friend…uh, she's over there," Zoe answered, looking into his intensely dark eyes.

"Is she ok?" he asked.

"Uh…I don't know." She really didn't either, although she suspected Eleonora was just in plain thought mode, perhaps about the events from earlier that evening.

"Wanna go see?" he asked. "I'll go with you. I mean, I haven't seen my friends all night either."

"Alright," she agreed.

The two walked, and Kyle followed Zoe, whose focus was on a blank faced, ill-at-ease Eleanora standing there with her cup in her hand. She had only drunk less than half, and she felt quite amazed at how many people didn't even acknowledge her presence. She was always a plain Jane kind of girl, and the mismatched ensemble she was wearing didn't help. She was always the lonely type, and in high school she did not have many friends; while others spent their weekends shopping or drunk at parties, she stayed home and typed for hours, turning her creative ideas into well-written stories. She never experienced the joys of a relationship, let alone a first kiss; her promiscuous mother had encouraged her to see boys, but she just didn't feel comfortable. Once they approached her, Eleonora acted startled, taking a quick gasp as she saw it was Zoe.

"What's wrong?" the blonde asked.

"You're all alone," Kyle said. "Go socialize."

"Uh…I've never really, well, gone to parties," Eleonora said truthfully.

"Have you seen Madison?" Zoe asked, her honey brown eyes looking at Eleonora curiously.

"She went with some people," the blonde responded, moving a strand behind her ear slowly, making eye contact with her new friend.

"How long ago was it?" she asked.

"I don't remember," Eleonora said hesitantly. "Some guy came and talked to her, she asked him to get her a drink, and he came back. They left me here."

"Let's go find her," Zoe suggested. Kyle shook his head and looked over at a crowd of people going down the hall to a non-brightly lit area; it caught his attention because there were so many people going in the same direction and possibly to the same place.

"No, let _me_ go," he said, walking away from the two.

Kyle made his way down the path between sparse crowds of college kids, holding his drink in his hand as his dark eyes explored the brightly lit vicinity as the lights transitioned to lime green and yellow from the warm, sultry colors of red and purple. His eyes adjusted to the lack of light as he turned in horror to see his frat brothers, especially Archie, the leader, raping a partially unconscious girl on a bed. She appeared to be drugged, way too far under the influence of some substance, and Kyle was terrified to see his other frat brothers taking turns with her, putting their members in her mouth and in her other two holes. To make things worse, onlookers had their phones out to catch the incident on camera.

"Hey! That's enough! STOP IT!" he shouted, rushing directly to the scene and pushing the lead frat boy off the bed before turning to face the onlookers. "GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!"

"Hey! Cut it, asshole! I'm gettin' some!" Archie shouted.

"Stop it! You're raping her!" Kyle said.

_PUNT!_

Archie had punched Kyle in the face so hard he fell unconscious, and Madison, who was still under the influence, began to regain some awareness of what was going on. She noticed that her clothes were still on, but felt her panties out of place—they had been moved aside so they could get at her goods. She jumped up and felt tears form in her eyes, looking over at the courageous Kyle who had stopped them from going further with her.

"Ah!" she shrieked.

"Let's get outta here!" Archie exclaimed.

Without further hesitation, Archie and the rest of the frat boys from Kappa-Lambda-Gamma collected an unconscious Kyle and ran out of the large frat house, carrying him and trying to be discreet like a murderer with his kill. People ended up seeing him, but however, Zoe and Eleonora noticed, and the girl was shocked—_oh no_, Zoe thought as she ran after the frat boys. Eleonora followed, her eyes widening with concern; _what happened_, she wondered.

"Kyle! Kyle! No!" Zoe screeched—she was frantic.

She ran faster, and Eleonora followed and was not far behind as her light blonde hair flew behind her. She had a look of horror on her face, as did Zoe, who pushed past a few sparse groups of partiers to burst open the doors, spring down the steps, and sprint off the sidewalk and into the street—by this time, Zoe had tears flooding her eyes, worried and anxious as a large bus drove off away from the sidewalk in front of the fraternity house. Zoe waved her arm, and Eleonora watched in shock, trying to figure out a way to calm her down and prevent her from panicking.

"STOP! STOP!_STOP_!" Zoe screamed, flailing her hands in the air to get the driver's attention as her new blonde friend jogged behind her with a look of terror in her anguished green eyes. Once they ceased running after the large bus, Zoe was out of breath, crying her eyes out as Eleonora put a hand on her shoulder and tried to make solemn eye contact.

"They'll come back," she said.

"NO! They took him! Who know what they'll do?!" Zoe exclaimed, weeping and sobbing.

Suddenly, the sound of high heels hitting the hard, black, damp asphalt drew ever closer as Eleonora tried to calm Zoe down—she glanced over to see Madison, who looked angry, distraught, anguished; a mix of the three poisonous emotions. Her eye makeup was severely smudged, and her soft light brown eyes looked glassy from whatever she was drugged with. She, too, had tears in her eyes, sniffling and sobbing from what had happened to her as she watched the back of the bus vengefully. She gulped, her breathing getting heavier as she concentrated on the bus, and raised her arm, a finger pointing out as she swiftly flicked it up in the air, watching the bus turn over on itself and crash violently against a few cars. It was upside down; no chance of survival for those who wronged her, those terrible frat boys who had raped her.

"OH MY GOD!" a voice screamed—he had witnessed the "accident". Then, the bus exploded in the back, the gas pipe had sprung a leak, and Eleonora's heart raced with utmost fear when realized that people most likely died. _She killed them_, she thought as she watched Madison turn her back and walk past she and Zoe valiantly; as if she had done nothing wrong.

All at once, Eleonora looked up and felt the clouds start to rumble, in sync with the emotions she felt inside; a storm was rumbling, and she felt a tear stream down her face, a tear of guilt. She looked up at the sky and saw the dark clouds in the black of night start to make thundering noises—raindrops soon followed.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN:**

**I hope you all enjoy the story so far! Bear with me as I try to stay true to the original story line but with my own twist, especially with OCs, etc.**

**Notice how there is Zyle in this story; yeah, I'm sticking to that. Taissa x Evan characters I do NOT want to mess with. _**

**I love hearing feedback, so please leave Reviews, and if you like my writing, Follow or Favorite! Spread the word!**

**Thank you and happy reading!** :)


	5. Chapter 5

"_The Louisiana __campus is still in shock over the tragic bus crash last night. Nine members of the fraternity Kappa-Lambda-Gamma were on board. Seven of the boys died on the scene, and two were rushed to the hospital, where they remain in critical condition. Officials will not confirm the identities of decea_—"

Madison, who had just gotten ready for the day, walked into the kitchen area and in flash flicked off the television. Zoe had been standing there watching it, along with Queenie and Nan, who were seated with cereal, and got immediately frustrated with the snobby starlet. Madison continued her way over to the island counter, where Spalding, the mute butler, was washing the stove, and Eleonora was preparing her own breakfast—she was overhearing every word in the dialogue of the ones she had witnessed the "accident" with.

"Hey! I was watching that!" Zoe exclaimed.

"Why?" Madison replied arrogantly. "It's yesterday's news." She continued over to Spalding, whose blank, frighteningly normal eyes were fixed on her. "Do you got any Greek yogurt?"

Spalding ignored her, but he was mute, so he couldn't speak anyways. Meanwhile, Eleonora was cutting up small fruit and washing blueberries and raspberries to concoct fruit salad, one of her favorite snack foods—she was not particularly hungry, but she knew she needed to eat something in order to sustain herself for the day; or, at least until lunch time. Her weary green eyes glanced up at Madison quickly before glancing down again; she said nothing, but heard Zoe speak as she caught up to Madison—she sounded quite nervous.

"We have to tell somebody what happened," Zoe declared in a soft voice. _Damn right we do_, Eleonora thought as the small blade cut the stem off a strawberry. "When I met Kyle, he tried to stop them."

"Madison?" Eleonora finally said, breaking her silence and sounding serious. "She's right. People died. We are just as guilty as you are for—"

"Shut up!" she retorted. "You weren't the one who got—"

"What are we talking about?" a voice asked; it sounded authoritative.

The sound of black stilettos clacking against the floor with each step drew everyone's attention, even Eleonora's, who looked at the woman who entered; she was definitely mature-looking, and she was wearing all black—her mother had worn black often, and it made her gulp with anxiety as she saw her shoulder-length blonde hair made voluminous by layers. Her eyes were a piercing hazel-brown, and her face was chiseled and aged. Between her fingers was a half-smoked cigarette being flaunted about like a fashion accessory in between puffs and blows. _Who is she_, she asked herself.

"College boys?" she continued; now she sounded very domineering and sly. "Having the time of their lives. Oh, what a tragedy! It almost makes you wanna cry. But then, the world's not gonna miss a bunch of assholes like them." Eleonora nervously felt herself talking—_why_, she asked herself.

"W-Who are you?" she asked; her voice sounded calm and kind like it always had when she met someone new. The woman ignored her; no surprise there.

"You know, I gotta hand it to you," she continued, taking some food from a tray on the counter—Nan and Queenie looked at her as if in a trance. "That bus flip…that's not easy to do." She turned her hazel-brown eyes to Madison, who looked back at her with the same snobby look on her face.

"You are a_sloppy_ little witch-bitch," the woman sneered coldly, leaning in ever so slightly to make the young woman know her place and where she stood.

"Go to hell, you stupid hag," Madison leered, pouting her lips with aggravation as she walked away from her.

Zoe and Eleonora looked at each other, but then noticed the woman hold the hand with the cigarette out. They could tell she was concentrating and gaining her focus to do something extraordinary, but what? Eleonora gasped to see Madison's body be lifted like a ragdoll off the floor, gliding rapidly toward the wall and thumping it. Madison's head jerked back from the force, and Zoe's honey brown eyes widened—Eleonora furrowed her eyebrows in, containing the fear inside as the woman looked at her piercingly, putting out her cigarette on a clean, unused plate.

"You will _never_ become one of the great women of our clan sitting around here at Hogwarts," she sneered; the girl's green eyes stared back, but the woman looked back at Queenie, Nan, Zoe and Madison, who all looked back at her with blank expressions. "And neither will all of you doing the same thing. Especially under the _confused_ instruction of my daughter." _Does she mean Cordelia_, Eleonora asked herself, _if so, she's wrong. Cordelia is nice_.

The woman, whose name she still did not know, turned to her and looked at her long and hard—Eleonora was of above-average beauty, but she still had a pretty enough face to charm anyone, especially with the freckles that mottled the bridge of her nose and her verdant, clear eyes. Her blonde hair was light and a rich color, and it hung down to meet her shoulders and cascade downwards more to reach her lower back. Her eyebrows were not particularly thick, but not groomed to perfection either, and her build was petite and skinny. Furthermore, the woman could sense the power she held within—it all became so clear, and she finally introduced herself, holding out her hand gracefully.

"Fiona Goode," she said finally. "You're our new girl?" Eleonora smiled gently and took her hand, shaking it in kind out of respect.

"Y-Yes," she said quietly. Fiona could tell she was a deeply shy, introverted creature.

"Eleonora Mortenson, is it?" she asked.

"Y-Y-Yes." Eleonora was intimidated by this woman, but unbeknownst to her, she was the Supreme of the coven.

"Hm, we are going on a field trip," Fiona declared. She looked at Queenie's bright orange shirt and then at Eleonora's pure white peasant blouse. "Change your clothes." _What's wrong with my clothes_, the girl thought to herself as she watched Fiona walk away toward the doorway of the kitchen.

"Wear something…" She paused, her voice amplifying through the atrium and to the kitchen, "_black_."

_I don't like black_, Eleonora thought as she finished preparing her breakfast.

* * *

><p>Quaint, urban, classy, elegant, sophisticated, old—there were not enough adjectives Eleonora could use to describe the scenery of New Orleans. She felt like she could write a novel if left to her own devices right then and there, possibly a romance; the scenery in the city was just lovely, and would make the perfect setting. However, she snapped out of her reverie—she was in a single file line led by Fiona, who held her black parasol up with a lace-gloved hand. Madison walked right behind her, then there was Eleonora, Zoe, Nan and Queenie. They had stopped at intersections, waiting to cross the street as onlookers and passersby stared and looked with curiosity and fascination; every girl was wearing black, but Fiona was the most clad in the shade. Eleonora, however, stuck out like a sore thumb—unlike the others, she did not wear a wide-brimmed hat, and the only things that were black in her ensemble were her shoes and her bottom—a skirt that reached just above the knees. Her shirt was white, the same one she was wearing at breakfast—Fiona had cut her some slack, though. She was the new girl, after all.<p>

"Do you hear that?" Nan suddenly said, getting the attention of the rest of the group. Eleonora was curious, but stayed silent as Fiona glared over at her, staring at the white collar on her black dress that stuck out prominently.

"What?"

"I hear something," Nan replied—she was hearing voices, but she could not fully trace the source. Then, she turned her head—she realized they were in front of the grand estate of Marie Delphine-LaLaurie. Eleonora knew that only a moment ago, they were in the heart of New Orleans; now, they were in front of one of the city's most well-known landmarks, which had seen been turned into a museum. The line of girls followed Fiona as she made her way up the steps, fearlessly determined for something great.

* * *

><p>"Excuse me," the tour guide said to Fiona in an authoritative manner. "You can't just barge in on a tour without buyin' a ticket."<p>

The blonde woman in black concentrated, staring back at the museum's curator as she manipulated her thoughts and controlled her to do her bidding. Fiona's expression was stern but assertive with wickedness infused in it all—the girls were waiting outside the door.

"You're giving us a tour for_free_," Fiona said, a soft declaration of her will as the curator complied.

"Oh, uh…free! Of course!" she said, her mood suddenly shifting to a happier one.

The curator did just that—Madison, Zoe, Queenie, Nan and Eleonora, along with a proud and happy Fiona, were in their own private group touring the estate-turned-museum for free. It was much more extraordinary on the inside, and at the top of the main staircase was a portrait of Madame LaLaurie, painted and old but still in mint condition as if it were fresh paint drying on the canvas. Eleonora looked around, smoothing out her light blonde hair before Madison's distinctive voice caught her attention.

"Ugh, it's hot in here," she scoffed. "My frickin' vagina's sweating!" _Ew_, Eleonora thought with a slightly grossed-out facial expression as the curator continued to digress about the history of the house.

"It is said that Marie Laveau, famed Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, tricked her into drinking poison. Miss Laveau claimed it to be a love potion that would help Madame LaLaurie with her marriage. Her husband was unfaithful to her," she digressed in a didactic manner. "Unfortunately, it killed her."

When the tour was over, Eleonora felt like she was exploring the academy one more time—there were so many similarities between the museum and her new home with the witches that it felt like she was in the same place as before. She walked out, following Zoe and Madison with Fiona, Queenie, and Nan behind her—Nan's small voice whispered to the Supreme, who paid attention to her chilling words.

"I sense…" the Down syndrome girl began, "she is buried underneath the patio."

"Huh?" Fiona asked, looking at her in shock.

"She is alive," Nan responded with a worrisome facial expression. "Underneath. She isn't dead."

* * *

><p>The group made it back to the heart of town; Eleonora felt somewhat worried when Zoe told her she would be right back. Where had she gone? Was she feeling alright? Was it a bathroom trip? Either way, she, Fiona, Madison, Nan, and Queenie walked past a small, but unique shop with flower pots hanging down and a sign in the front window that had a crystal ball and an open deck of cards. Fiona permitted them to go in and take a look around, and once Eleonora stepped one of her booted feet over the threshold, she took a look around and smiled gently—it was quite fascinating, and every item was stocked in an orderly manner. There was large shelf full of books on what looked to be occult topics such as magick, divination, developing psychic powers, nature-based religions, mythology, astrology, and reference guides for herbs and correspondences. Behind the register was a man with dark blonde hair, looking down and sitting comfortably with the newspaper in his mittened hands. He glanced up, his gray eyes cheerful as he folded the paper sloppily and put it on the counter next to a display with lighters and match books.<p>

"Oh, hey!" he squealed cheerfully. "I didn't see you come in!"

"Who are you?" Nan asked as he made his way over to them rapidly; he was actually quite handsome.

"My name is Chase," he said with a big grin.

"I'm Nan," she replied, extended her hand out; strangely, Chase did not take her hand, and she felt a bit discouraged.

"I've never seen you in here before," he said, looking at the back of Eleonora's light blonde head. "But your clothing looks familiar."

"Yeah, we wear this…all the time," Queenie said, feeling slightly uncomfortable around this man. _He must be retarded_, she thought. The man laughed and smiled, fidgeting slightly to adjust his pants—Madison scoffed at him and rolled her eyes, hearing his voice pick up and get more excited.

"There are books over there, and candles over there, and other stuff, and my sister can—"

"Shut up," the snobby starlet said demeaningly.

"Madison, don't talk like that," Queenie instructed. "Be nice."

"Yeah, be _nice_," Chase said, a sad smile on his face—_he's like a grown-up child_, Eleonora thought as her eyes scanned the book titles on the large shelf. The titles were intriguing as she looked at each one, turning her head slightly sideways.

_The Book of Enoch the Prophet_.

_The Key of Solomon: Revised Edition_.

_Endor: Necromancy for a New Age_.

_The Only Psychic Power Book You'll Ever Need_. Indeed very interesting.

_The Magic Candle_.

_Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner_.

_Norse Myths: Gods and Warriors_. This looked rather used; its paperback binding was worn.

_Freyja's Flame: Love Spells_. Oooooh.

_Celtic Myths and Legends_.

_The Black Arts_. Interesting, but not her thing. She never wanted to harm anyone.

_Il libro per la strega_. Must be Italian.

_Brujeria_. What?

"Need any help finding anything?" a voice asked; it was soft and feminine.

Eleonora turned around to see a tall, beautiful woman whose features made her look like the ultimate snow princess—her ice blonde hair was shoulder-length with a distinct side fringe that wisped on her forehead. She had white skin the color of marble; very unnatural, but flawless, smooth, and perfect. She had unusual, beauty—her lips were full and painted with sparkly fuchsia lip gloss. Her eyes were the color of a thunderstorm, the storm that raged inside Eleonora everyday of her life, yet this woman's eyes were intense and soulful. Her eyelids were meticulously made up with dark eyeliner and a cut crease of beige and dark brown; her eyebrows were groomed perfectly, her arches defined by light brown cream pomade. She had a ghostly appearance, but it added to her allure and mystery—who was she?

"Oh, uh…well, I was just looking," the girl said; she felt the woman's presence draw ever closer.

Eleonora could now see the layered necklaces she was wearing—one resembled a hammer with diagonals and lines to form letters of a strange alphabet; another was a pentagram encased in a solid circle; the next looked to be a wooden amulet on a tweed string that had a single vertical line down the middle. The woman noticed her curiosity, but then closed her eyes before gazing down into her green eyes.

"You're new here," she said.

"Huh?"

"Yes, I know," the woman said; Eleonora was frightened—the question was, how _did_ she know?

"Who are you, miss?" she asked politely.

"I'm Julie," she said with a warm smile as he put a pale hand to her chest—she was wearing a deep forest green peasant top. "I can't help but notice. You have a strong energy."

"Really? What do you mean?" Eleonora asked timidly.

"You just…" Julie sighed, letting her strong, sharp intuition come out in the form of words, "have a magnetism about you. It's compelling, but in a_good_ way. It must be your aura." In truth, the woman was focused enough to see Eleonora's aura—it was pure white around her form, but specks of pale yellow sparkled among her youthful being. Julie smiled, knowing she was looking at someone "special". The girl, however, was curious to know more.

"You are a pure soul," she began, keeping her stormy, soulful gray eyes on the girl. "You are about to transcend the physical and make a change…" She concentrated more, overwhelmed by the vibe the girl was giving off. "You have an angelic presence guiding you to your higher purpose…it's…it's beautiful…"

"Excuse me? Uh, miss?" Nan asked, unwittingly interrupting Julie's spiritual analysis of Eleonora as she walked over to the woman with snow white hair. "How much are necklaces?" Eleonora noticed she was holding up a pewter angel with an embossed solid heart in the center; Julie looked down at the Down syndrome girl and saw she was surrounded by bright orange. _What a pleasing energy_, she thought as she smiled down at her charitably.

"The owner charges much more, but I will give you a discount," she said. "Ten."

"Ten?" Nan asked. "'It says forty-five."

"Yes," she said. "It's alright. In fact, the next time you all come here to shop, I will give you all a discount."

"Wow, really?" Queenie asked with a smile. "That's nice."

"Would've been better if we could get it free," Madison sneered under her breath; Julie could hear her, and she calmly came up with a kind response.

"I wish I _could_ give you stuff for free, but my boss wouldn't allow it," she replied, keeping her composure.

Madison turned around, holding three books, a necklace, and a bag of frankincense sticks, a look of shock on her face as she looked at the striking woman who worked in the store. She took a look at her clothing choice; aside from wearing a deep green peasant blouse, she was wearing a white pleated skirt that reached to just above her knees with nude-colored hose to cover her legs. Her boots were black combat boots, and they laced up the front and reached the mid-calf. She then looked strangely at her pale features, scoffing rudely.

"Do you dye your hair?" she asked. Julie looked to the side, and Eleonora sighed with aggravation. _How rude_, she thought, _you don't just ask someone if they dye their hair_. Julie shook her head and laughed; she didn't seem to take offense to it.

"Hahaha! No," she answered, putting her hand up to her head and taking some hair between her fingers. "This is all natural."

"No, it's not," Madison said, shaking her head. "In fact, you look prone to sunburn."

"I've never gotten one," Julie said with a smile. _She's so ignorant_, she thought.

"You're lying," the snobby starlet said. "Ugh, just ring up my stuff."

Meanwhile, Eleonora had snagged a few random things just to say she had bought something from the unique little occult shop—the books _Endor: Necromancy for a New Age _and _Norse Myths: Gods and Warriors_, three white taper candles, sage leaves in a distinguished clear bag, and a clear quartz gemstone bracelet. Once it was her turn to ring up her items, Julie smiled down at one book in particular, feeling its worn binding nostalgically.

"Hmm," she muttered. "This is very well-read. I'm glad you chose this."

"Oh…uh, really?" Eleonora replied.

"Yes. This was mine," Julie said, putting it in a brown paper bag. "I've learned enough to sell it someone. I know all about the Norse gods and mythology."

"Really?"

"Yes." She rung up the total on the cash register—even though it read $38.99, she decided to give her a huge discount. "Fifteen."

Eleonora slowly reached into where she was keeping her money, taking out a twenty dollar bill and handing it to Julie, who took it and gave her five dollars in change. The girl looked up at the woman, who stared back at her attentively, sensing something was on her mind.

"You know, I've never done this type of stuff before," she said, taking her change. "I don't follow it."

"You're a natural witch. Your power comes from within," Julie replied, handing her the paper bag of the stuff she had purchased. Eleonora began to wonder, but the answer was obvious—Julie also was a witch.

* * *

><p>The halls of the hospital seemed endless; Zoe's feet, however, refused to give out on her. She had strayed from the group only to find a large mass of people in front of the frat house Kappa-Lambda-Gamma, surrounding a flower-and-photo memorial of the ones who had died in the accident Madison caused—one of them was Kyle. Just seeing his smiling face in the picture broke her heart—she had leaned down to get a better look; his intense dark eyes smiling back at her in the photo. Realizing there were two survivors, she now was curious—who had lived?<p>

In the hospital room, there were two young men laying in beds under critical condition; one was black, and the other was white, but she remembered that it was the white one who had led the frat boys in carrying Kyle's unconscious body out the bus that killed them. The same one also had violated Madison, and she walked closer to look down at him; he looked very groggy, lifeless…and he was fully erect. Zoe gasped, looking down at the sight—how could this happen? She then remembered her powers—Charlie, her boyfriend, had died when they had sex for the first time. It was catastrophic for sure, but it was obvious that she was more a threat to him than he was to her.

She went to close the door of the hospital room before slowly going onto the bed, pulling back the covers to reveal his erect penis as she straddled him, moving her panties aside and pulling the skirt of her dress up. She licked her fingers and put them to her entrance to make entry easier before she mounted him, grimacing at how big he felt before she moved up and down. She looked down at him, and he began to stir—meanwhile, the heart monitor that was attached to him beeped rapidly as she moved faster up and down on him.

"Ugh," she muttered, concentrating to willfully kill him even though her Black Widow power was beyond her control. She began to move faster. Faster. Harder. Slower, only to speed up again. He began to bleed out his tear ducts; his nose, his ears, his mouth. The heart monitor beeped wildly, and the lead frat boy began to convulse as if possessed by a demon—Zoe bounced really hard and fast to finish him off. The heart monitor stopped beeping; one continuous, loud beep broke the peace in the room. Blood covered the sheets, his face, and the hospital gown he was wearing on his fresh corpse.

He was dead.


	6. Chapter 6

"Ladies," Cordelia began. "Prepare yourselves. The morning gathering is coming up shortly."

Eleonora was relieved that she wasn't ordered to wear black; she got out of bed, took a bath, and freshened up her appearance with an ensemble consisting of light blue bootcut jeans, sneakers, and her favorite gray hoodie over a white v-neck t-shirt. Her light blonde hair was still damp when the gathering began, but it was brushed neatly and perfectly straight. She sat on the sofa between Zoe and Madison, and opposite them were Queenie and Nan while Cordelia sat in her own chair, one leg gracefully hanging over the other. Strangely, Fiona did not attend the meeting of the witches—she was wrapped up in her own business.

"Good morning, ladies," Cordelia said to begin the meeting.

"Good morning," the girls said in unison to the headmistress. Her brown eyes looked at each girl, but she had her sights set on Eleonora the most—Queenie had begun, though, by explaining her lineage and how she discovered her powers.

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_I'd like to speak to the manager!" the customer shouted—Queenie had worked in a fried chicken joint in Detroit__before being welcomed into the academy. Customers had always given her hell or a reason to be angry with them if they were the same with her. The man's next words infuriated her; "you stupid fatass!"_

_"__What did you call me?!" Queenie shouted._

_"__Get the manager!" the irate customer replied. The girl took a few steps over to the frying vat, its contents boiling hot enough to scald anyone's skin severely. She rolled up her sleeve and hung her hand over the vat, looking over at the customer sternly._

_"__I _am _the manager!" _

_With that being said, she plunged her hand and forearm rapidly into the boiling, hot grease and looked over at the man, concentrating as she transferred the pain from her being to his. He glanced down to see his hand was receiving third-degree burns, and he screamed bloody murder in front of the counter as his skin began to sear as if it were on fire. Queenie kept it up, looking at him as she put her forearms deeper into the scalding hot substance, burning the customer even more. _That'll teach him, _she thought._

* * *

><p>"I grew up on white girl shit like Charmed and Sabrina the Teenage Cracker," she said, looking at everyone; her eyes were focused on Madison's sparkly top, though. "I didn't even know there were any black witches. But, as it turns out, I am an heir to Tituba. She was a house slave in Salem. She was the first to be accused of witchcraft, so technically, I am part of your tribe."<p>

Tribe? Eleonora was curious—were her powers inherited from a bloodline from Salem? Or someplace entirely different? She knew it was the latter—there was no other way to describe it. Cordelia then turned her dark gaze to the girl, whose verdant eyes were distracted by the smooth surface of the antique coffee table.

"Eleonora?" She snapped out of her reverie, sighing as she looked at Cordelia.

"Yes?"

"Tell us more about you," she insisted. "How did you discover your powers?" She gulped, and her freckled face turned red with embarrassment—she could easily sense this, and within a few moments, Madison got aggravated and looked to the girl next to her.

"Talk!" she ordered cruelly.

"Don't be mean," Queenie said in her defense.

"Cut it out, Madison," Cordelia said. Once she stopped, she leaned back with her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at the blonde with harsh light brown eyes. "Eleonora? You don't need to be shy."

"W-What should I say?" the blonde asked shyly.

"Well, how did you discover your powers?" the headmistress asked. Eleonora sighed, keeping calm as she exhaled, clasping her hands together and fidgeting slightly.

"I…I was born with them," she said softly.

"When did you first discover them?"

"I was little," she replied. "I don't remember how old I was."

"Do you remember the first time you used them?" Zoe asked, looking at Eleonora, who sat next to her in between she and Madison.

"Well…it's a long story," Eleonora said. "And quite frankly, I don't remember. I think I was a baby."

"So you've had them for as long as you can remember?" Cordelia said. _Duh_, Eleonora thought, _I just said that_. She nodded.

"Where are you from originally?" Queenie asked. Eleonora looked at her directly and answered.

"New York," she said.

"_City_?" Madison asked.

"No." Eleonora looked at everyone and continued. "Hurley."

"But you lived in Florida?" Cordelia asked.

"My mother and I moved down there when my parents divorced," Eleonora said. "I was twelve."

"Where's your father?" Zoe asked.

Eleonora hadn't thought of her father since he left the family—he called it quits when he saw Helen, her mother and his wife, having sex with a stranger when he came home from work. A repressed memory showed that Helen had done something terrible to her father using her powers, and Eleonora was the only one to save him from being lost from her life completely. Still, he not only left her mother but ostracized his own daughter for her powers. The thought made her sad, and even worse, she had wondered during fleeting moments how he was doing, where he was, and how he was prospering without Helen in his life.

"He left. I haven't seen him since," she finally said.

"When your mother came to see us, she mentioned you could revive the dead," Cordelia said. Eleonora sighed, pursing her lips inward as her verdant eyes glanced up at the ceiling studiously.

"Yes?"

"Tell us more about that. How did you come across that ability?"

"Well…"

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_Don't touch it! It's dead!" Helen screeched._

_"__No!" a young Eleonora said, on her knees in the bloodied street—her beloved cat, Nanna, was hit by a car. It was so mean of them to just drive away carelessly, and the little girl's heart was broken. She disobeyed her mother and took the cat's mangled body on her skirted lap, the blue gingham fabric getting bloody. _

_"__Put that down! Right now!" Helen repeated. "You stupid little girl!"_

_She cried in its fur, hugging it close to her and sobbing as her warm, salty tears fell from her beautiful, large green eyes. Her face was beet red, and she patted the cat's back if she were alive, whispering and muttering under her breath as she felt her mother's harsh presence standing behind her, crouching shortly after and glaring at her daughter as they heard a familiar sound._

Meow.

_"__N-Nanna?" the little girl asked, looking down to see her cat looking up at her with her great, blue feline eyes. Her slate gray fur was no longer bloody, as the bulk of it was on her blue gingham skirt. The girl smiled tearfully, and held her newly-revived, beloved cat to her, kissing her head and running her fingers over her fur._

_"__Aw, kitty!" _

_"__Get in the house," Helen hissed. "_Dumma flicka."

_"__But mama—" She felt a burning sensation on the back of her neck, and she began to cry heavily; Nanna, the cat, followed them up the steps as Helen grabbed the back of her daughter's neck and led her up the steps of the house—the burning seared through her tender, young flesh._

_"_Now!_"_

* * *

><p>"That's why I've never seen your hair up?" Madison asked.<p>

"I guess," Eleonora said. "It really hurt. The back of my neck is scar tissue from the burn."

"Oh, dear," Cordelia said, wincing before leaning forward and listening to her further.

"I never wanted my powers," Eleonora confessed, "because I know…I'd probably…inevitably end up like my mother. She hurts people with hers. I don't want to hurt anyone. I want to…well…I've always wanted a normal life."

"What was that…uh…you said she called you something?" Zoe asked. "Is she not American?"

"She is," Eleonora said. "It's Swedish."

Cordelia gasped slightly, her brown eyes widening with shock—it all made sense why she stuck out like a sore thumb among the other witches. There was no way she was a Salem descendant. She was descended from another line entirely, a different ethnicity in total. She leaned back in her seat, looking at the blonde as her green eyes wandered the scenery of the ancestry room.

"She's Swedish?" she asked.

"Well, kind of," Eleonora responded shyly. "Both of my parents are half."

"You're _Swedish_?" Madison asked; she sounded very snobby and condescending, rolling her eyes with annoyance.

"Well, yes. I never really understood the language, though. Both of my parents were fluent," Eleonora said, feeling uncomfortable inside.

There was a knock at the door. Everyone's eyes widened, and Cordelia sprung up from her seat and left the ancestry room to answer the door, her kitten heels sliding against the floor. She opened it slightly ajar, noticing two men in uniform reaching for their badges and pulling them out to show her that they were policemen.

"New Orleans PD," one of them said. "Detective Rice. This is Officer Rowan. We've come to ask a few questions. Is Zoe Benson, or Madison Montgomery there?"

"Or Eleonora Mortenson?" Officer Rowan inquired, putting his badge back on the breast side of his jacket.

"Oh, uh, come in," Cordelia said nervously.

* * *

><p>"Tell us what happened on the night of the bus crash," Detective Rice said.<p>

"Seven of those kids died," Officer Rowan added. "Another died in the hospital. Brain aneurism."

"Oh," Zoe muttered. _I killed him_, she thought, _I mounted him and used my power_.

"They just…I don't know," Madison said, using her charisma to get them to believe her. "I think there were too many boys on one side of the bus just weighing it down." She lit a cigarette and looked at them.

"Here's the thing. They were dispersed, and forensics found otherwise," the detective said. "According to their final positions on the flipped bus, they were evenly dispersed." Eleonora grew nervous, keeping eye contact with the officers as she slid the bottoms of her hands back into the sleeves of her sweater.

"We don't know what happened," Zoe said. "We saw it, but we didn't know how—"

"It had to have hit _something_, and you are the only ones who know what _really_ happened," Officer Rowan stated.

"We just told you," Madison sneered, blowing nicotine-filled smoke at the cops, tapping the ashes off her cigarette in the glass ashtray. "We had nothing to do with it."

"We don't know what happened," Eleonora replied timidly. "It just tipped." _Damn you_, she thought to herself, _lying to police. What's wrong with you?_

"Yes, you do. You're just not—"

"We did it," Zoe said forcefully, her eyes getting teary and flooding with water.

Madison and Eleonora were in pure shock—how could she have just given them away like that? The truth was simple—she was under pressure, especially when they mentioned that Archie, the lead frat brother, had died in the same way as her boyfriend, Charlie. Then, the words came off her tongue effortlessly as she panicked and cried anxiously.

"Madison was gang-raped by all of them, and we tried to stop them, but Madison flipped over the bus! We're witches, officer! That's why she flipped over the bus!" she shouted tearfully. "We saw them! We're witches, _too_!"

"Zoe! You _bitch_!" Madison screeched. "They don't believe you!"

"Zoe!" Eleonora whined—she was scared out of her wits, yet relieved that the truth was

"What are you two men doing in here?" a voice boomed.

It was the voice of Fiona, who came forward into the room dressed in black as she smoked a cigarette. She gave off a deadly vibe, the kind that could wipe out an entire room with a single sweep. She slinked into the room with her focus on the police officers, who stood up and gasped in fear as Fiona drew closer; Officer Rowan held out his badge to convey his societal position, and she glared at them both.

"I'm Officer Rowan. We are asking them a few questions about the bus crash that happened—"

"Do you have _any_ idea how busy we are?" Fiona snorted. She then looked at the three girls and pointed toward the doorway. "Leave us now."

Zoe was still teary eyed and anxious, shaking nervously as Eleonora and Madison followed close behind as they made their exit to wait outside the room. Cordelia, however, entered to take their place quicker than they can say done; Fiona gave her daughter a glance before one of the law enforcement officials began to speak in his booming, deep voice.

"Are you in charge here?" Detective Rice asked.

"I'm Fiona Goode," she replied snobbily. "I'm in charge everywhere."

"We came to ask those three girls questions about the bus crash that happened. Seven died on board. That girl said that the other used powers," the officer replied, scoffing and laughing with disbelief. "What a croc."

Fiona then concentrated enough on their minds to coerce them to do her bidding, and she looked at them—Cordelia was standing there looking at the two men with fear hidden in her chocolate brown eyes. She noticed her mother's breathing rise, getting aggravated with the situation as she pointed her finger at them both. Meanwhile, a curious Eleonora took a peek as she stood behind the doorway with the other nerve-wracked girls.

"You will _never_ investigate the bus crash again," she declared. The detective began to convulse as he tried to resist her power, his body shaking slightly as he struggled to speak.

"We will need to take them in for further questioning, ma'am," he said, his lips trembling. Fiona was getting angrier by the minute, and her voice became a hissing rasp.

"In about ten seconds, I'm gonna turn the heat up in that chubby melon of yours, and I'm gonna turn your brains into scrambled eggs," she threatened harshly; the policemen looked at her fearfully. "But frankly, it's been a long, hard morning. I'd really rather not work up a sweat." Cordelia began talking, scared of what her mother had in mind to do to punish the three girls for nearly revealing their secret.

"This is totally—"

"Shut up!" Fiona barked. "Unless you want me to spit in a third cup!"

Little did she know that she _did_ indeed work up a sweat being so angry—Fiona had the temper of a viper, ready to bite at anytime to inject poisonous rage into pretty much anyone who got in her way. Eleonora, Madison, and Zoe were led upstairs to an unused guest bedroom, and all three looked at each other with frightening anticipation. Fiona closed the door behind them, and Eleonora looked at them; Zoe did the talking.

"They knew so much already!" she whined, her eyes still teary.

"I couldn't toast a piece of bread with the heat they were putting on you!" Fiona screeched.

"I tried to get them to think it wasn't us," Madison added forcefully. "Give us some credit."

"Stupid!" the older woman barked.

"Ma'am, Zoe was just nervous," Eleonora said softly, keeping her composure through it all; she did a good job hiding her fear. "She was under pressure, and—"

Fiona held out her hand and looked at all three girls, starting with Zoe as she telekinetically launched her off her feet and toward the wall; she did the same with Madison, only she landed on the second bed toward the wall roughly to cause a painful impact. Eleonora however, was launched and tossed against the wall, but Fiona's concentration missed, causing her to fall on the floor near Zoe's final landing. The blonde with freckles put a hand to her head, groaning quietly under her breath.

"I was afraid," Zoe wept, burying her eyes into the palms of her hands. Fiona felt no remorse for punishing them, even though only Madison and Zoe had actually had their hands in the incidents. She gave no damns about Eleonora, though, even if she was the new girl.

"You almost gave away our secret. So _pathetically_ stupid," Fiona chided.

"We're sorry, damn it!" Madison shouted, her hand rubbing over her arm where it had hit the bed.

"You're missing the point!" the Supreme indicated. "In this whole wide, wicked world, the only thing you have to be afraid of…" She paused cryptically, "is _me_."

* * *

><p>When the girls and Cordelia met at their morning gathering, Fiona was busy with her own affairs—the night before, she had hypnotized two men to dig underneath the stone patio of Marie Delphine LaLaurie's estate-turned-museum to see if Nan was really hearing voices during their outing. As it turns out, Fiona was shocked to find that it was the lady of the manor herself, dressed in clothing from her time with a rag tied around her mouth and her wrists shackled in cuffs and chains.<p>

"Oh my god!" Fiona exclaimed as the lady rose from the ground; she seemed extremely disillusioned as she looked around, struggling to raise her hands to remove the rag that had muffled her screams and cries over the years. Her clothing was filthy, and she smelled of bad body odor and soil.

"Finally!" Those were the first words from Madame LaLaurie in so long; she figured she had gone mute from all those years of being buried under ground.

"How did…how did you stay so…uh…"

Fiona was speechless—she had been looking for effective anti-aging treatment since she first started developing wrinkles. She remembered coming back more recently from California to pick up a serum from her late husband's old laboratory. It had not worked—she had sucked the life out of his coworker only to have the youthful effects fade shortly after. She knew Madame LaLaurie was given something special and unique for her to live such a long time without suffocating or being crushed by the pressure by six feet of soil.

"Long story," the woman said, a heavy, deep Southern accent in her voice. "What…what year is it?"

"2013," Fiona replied.

"Oh dear Lord," the madam said, looking at the Supreme. "How'd ya find me?"

"I have my sources," she said. "How did you stay alive and…_young_ all these years?"

"Long story. Are ya deaf?" LaLaurie sneered. "Get me outta these."

"Not until you tell me how you stayed alive under there," Fiona said, lighting a cigarette from her pocket.

"I was put under there," LaLaurie said.

"Ugh," Fiona scoffed. "Come on, Mary Todd Lincoln. Let's go for a drink."

**A/N:**

**I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far. Do not hesitate to leave suggestions, feedback, thoughts, or comments in the ****Reviews****! **

**Notice the way I write that there are jumps—they're actually showing flashbacks or otherwise events after scenes, so I hope it isn't ****_too _****confusing.**

**Thanks for the Reviews from my mystery guests.**

**Happy reading! :D**


	7. Chapter 7

"I owe you a favor, Zoe," Madison said. "I stole this spell from Cordelia."

"What?" the girl with honey-brown eyes replied with shock as she fastened the other portion of light brown hair into a second pigtail.

"You heard me. I want to repay you," the starlet said, sitting next to her and talking quietly as she unrolled a piece of aged parchment, looking down at the elegant script that had been used centuries before to write the spell she was mentioning.

"You can't be serious," Zoe responded. "What if they find out?"

"They're not going to," Madison replied. "If we take Eleonora with us—"

"No," Zoe answered, shaking her head, "she won't come with us. Not after earlier. Fiona tore us down because of _my_ mistake."

"But the cops aren't after us anymore. We can go out," Madison said. "And bringing her isn't a bad idea. Cordelia said at the morning gathering that she could raise the dead. _Resurgence_. _That_'s what we need for this, and she has it down pat."

"I'm not sure," Zoe said, sighing as she thought of Kyle. _He was innocent_, she thought, _why him? Why did he have to die?_

"I want to help you get Kyle back," Madison said. "And we _are_ bringing Eleonora with us. I know she won't fuck it up. She was born with the powers."

"We all are," Zoe said. "I just…well…I—"

"We are going," Madison said. "That's final."

It had taken an hour for the starlet to persuade Eleonora to go with them to the morgue to sneak in and try to perform the resurrection spell on Kyle's corpse; she had used almost every tactic, even explaining how she was repaying Zoe back for her support after she was violated by the frat brothers. Eleonora was extremely reluctant, and was writing in her journal only to close it when she entered the room.

"We need your help," Madison pleaded. "I'm serious. Please come with us?"

"No," Eleonora said, putting the lock on her journal and fastening it. "We've gotten in enough trouble."

"They won't know it was us," the starlet said.

"Yes, they will," the blonde with freckles answered, her green eyes filled with worry as she tried to reason with Madison. "If Cordelia sees that missing, she's going to know someone took it. Who knows what'll happen then?"

"Nothing will happen. I'll even make a deal with you. I'll pay you to come with us," Madison said. "Think of it this way. Zoe is our friend. We should give her what her heart desires."

"I seriously doubt she wants a zombie boyfriend," Eleonora said as she shook her head.

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll pay you!" Madison whispered forcefully.

"No! Stop it!" Eleonora was getting annoyed with Madison, and felt the urge to push her away telekinetically.

"_Please?_!" Eleonora held her hand out and pushed her palm outwards, concentrating enough to force Madison off the edge of the bed, where she was sitting, and onto the carpeted floor; she groaned in pain, feeling her shoulder hit the floor roughly.

"Ow! _Bitch_!"

"Fine, I'll go!" Eleonora said forcefully, rolling her eyes. "Geez."

"Alright, let's go."

The three girls made their way down the seemingly endless, smelly halls of the city morgue; formaldehyde made an unusual presence in the vicinity, and Eleonora knew for a fact that a successful autopsy was one without any chemical involvement. She looked around, coroners and interns wearing scrubs, sanitary masks and aprons that were soon to be bloodied with bodily fluids galore. Madison had a determined look on her face, while Zoe seemed just as nervous as Eleonora, who had hesitated in the first place but only gave in to make her stop.

"Madison," the blonde with freckles whispered as they approached a door. "Are you sure this is the room? Shouldn't we ask someone?"

"No, it says right here," Madison indicated, pointing to the folder attached to the wall in the holder. "Kappa Lambda Gamma."

"By the way, I'm sorry I pushed you," Eleonora added.

"No time for that now," the starlet said. "Let's go in."

Upon entering, the three girls looked around, and Eleonora became queasy at the smell of decomposition and the sight of tables upon tables loaded with zipped-up bags. Zoe grimaced and covered her mouth and nose, while Madison took out a small bottle of perfume and sprayed herself a few times to make herself distracted from the putrid smell of decaying bodies. She resisted gagging, but she walked around, looking down at the names and serial numbers, printed on each zip-up bag like meat in a packaging facility. The lights in the room were dim, adding to the overall eerie feel in the environment. Madison came across on that read "SPENCER, KYLE: 25784302."

"Bingo," she said quietly, reaching for the zipper of the bag; Zoe's eyes protested quietly.

"No! Don't!"

Zoe and Eleonora gasped as Madison slid the zipper open, revealing a mass of body parts; it was Kyle, for sure, his decapitated head pale, livid, almost yellow with a tinge of blue; a foot jutted out of the opening of the bag with a tag on its large toe, while a completely intact arm was behind the weak, shriveled blond hair of the deceased young man. The torso was off to the side, entrails pouring out of the sheared opening caused by whoever dismembered him. Eleonora looked down in horror, her cheeks bulging out as she gagged.

"He's still kinda cute, though," the starlet said; it seemed like she had a stomach of scrap iron.

"Ew, close it!" the freckled blonde said frantically. "It's gross!" Then, Zoe's turn to talk came.

"How are we going to—"

"All we have to do is take the best parts and create the _perfect _boyfriend," Madison said with morbid excitement, looking at Zoe. "Eleonora will finish it off. You got the needle and thread?"

"Yeah," Eleonora said. "I put it in your backpack." She felt like she was about to vomit right then and there.

"Let's get to work!"

* * *

><p>Fiona was playing with her lighter, looking down at the shiny metallic covering as the woman behind her was doing her hair. This was not any ordinary woman, though—it was none other than Marie Laveau, the Vodou Queen of New Orleans. After finally prying the truth out of Madame LaLaurie, she learned that Laveau had actually tricked her into drinking a potion that was meant to endow her with eternal life; she was vengeful because LaLaurie had killed and tortured her lover, Bastien, and sentenced her to be buried alive. No wonder she lived so long. Now Fiona wanted her secret.<p>

"So have you owned this place long?" the Supreme asked as Marie combed through her hair—she looked in the mirror at Fiona's reflection, her smooth, dark skin radiant with youth and beauty.

"What do _you_ think?" she asked.

"I think when they say 'good black don't crack', they're not wrong," Fiona answered. "What's your secret?"

"What's yours?" Marie asked, her powerful voice booming softly like thunder on a warm summer's evening. "Your manicure costs more than my rent. Woman like you wipes her ass wit' diamonds. She don't just end up walkin' in here for hair extensions."

"Well, well," Fiona muttered. "Aren't you perceptive?"

"You know _exactly_ who I am and what I'm capable of," Marie said, looking down into the reflection with her great black eyes darting at her; a debate was starting. "Just like I know _exactly_ what you are." She hissed her next word like a cobra. "_Witch!_" She leaned back and continued to comb, and Fiona listened. "I can smell the stink of it on ya."

"Well, I didn't expect you to like me," the Supreme said, chuckling slyly. "I mean, after all, _your_ kind and _my_ kind have been going after each other for centuries, though it is kinda like a…" She thought for a moment, "hammer going after a nail."

"Everything you got, you got from us," Marie argued, continuing at the woman's short, blonde layers.

"Tituba," Fiona said mockingly. "Little slave girl who graced us with her _black_ magick. She couldn't tell a love potion from a recipe for chocolate chip cookies if she had to read it!"

Marie could easily sense she was trying to tear down her kind—she gave a tress of Fiona's a light tug before leaning down, the comb in her other hand as she felt insulted by the Supreme's cunning.

"_You_ made 'er a slave!" she exclaimed. "Before that, she came from a great tribe. The Arowack! She learned the secrets of the other side from a 2,000-year old line of shamans. Necromancers._She_ gave it to your girls in Salem. A gift repaid with betrayal!"

"You wanna tell _me _that some illiterate Voodoo slave girl gave _me my_ crown?" Fiona barked; she was getting flustered, and was determined to win the argument.

"You haven't heard the news about civilizations. They started in Africa," Marie reasoned. "We more than just pins and dolls and seein' the future in chicken blood. You been readin' too many tourist guides!" She proceeded to shake the aerosol can holding hairspray, giving each layer a clean spritz as Fiona continued rambling.

"Speaking of tourist guides," the blonde woman said, the smell of hairspray wafting toward her. "No more spray!" She held her hand back, and continued. "I have been to St. Louis, number one. I have seen the tomb of Laveau. Seen the fat tourists from Little Rock to Hackensack," she raised a hand as if she were holding a pencil, her tone of voice chiding and calculating, "drawing crosses on the bridge, making wishes to the bones of _Marie Laveau_." The blonde chuckled. "Little do they know…all they have to do to get their wishes granted was to come down here to the Ninth Ward and get their hair braided."

Marie looked at her studiously, taking a deep breath as she took a step forward and leaned down to Fiona, looking down into her hazel-brown eyes and speaking harshly. Her voice hissed like a cobra again.

"And what is _your_ wish?" she asked demeaningly. "_Witch_?"

Fiona looked up at her—she knew exactly what she wanted, but tried to think of the right words to say. She looked up at Marie, her dark skin glowing with radiance as her long, braided, coarse black hair cascaded down her form, her hoop earrings fastened in to give her a more modern look. Finally, the blonde Supreme spoke.

"I want what you have," she said. "Whatever it is that has kept you young all these years." She nodded, but Marie leaned back and stood up straight, keeping her eyes on Fiona as she began to laugh hysterically.

"Aw, the hammer wants the nail's magick?" Marie taunted as Fiona smiled and giggled. "Oh, that is _rich_!"

"Yup," Fiona said. "And you're gonna give it to me, because I have something _you_ want."

"You could offer me a unicorn that shits hundred-dollar bills I'd still never give you more than a headache," Marie stated. She looked up and called out. "BOYS!"

Fiona turned her head rapidly to see two large men coming toward her from their seats in the waiting area, putting down their magazines and newspapers on the table and making their way over; then she focused on the selection of hair extensions on the wall next to Marie's spot. She concentrated, seeing a flash of red before the area ignited, the flames rising and getting more powerful. Marie was now infuriated, and she looked at her two bodyguards and pointed to the fire.

"Put it out! Put it out!" she exclaimed; she diverted her attention to Fiona. "Stop it!"

She ignored her, closing her eyes and looking down, shaking her head before leaning closer to the mirror for a better look at Marie had done to her hair. She thought for a moment, ruffling the stiff, crunchy layers that were covered in a thick mass of hairspray.

"I don't like it," she muttered, getting up from the salon chair. "But we'll be in touch." She took a look around, and Marie stared at her like a fierce bird of prey. "It's a nice place you have here. It's nice to see you doing so well after all these years. Maybe in another century," She paused to regain the momentum of her piercing voice, "you could have_two_ shithole salons."

As Fiona took her leave, Marie looked off into space, shaking her head as she rested her hand on the edge of the back of the salon chair Fiona had graced. _How dare she_, she thought, _she hasn't changed a bit. No matter what she does, she will _never _win my favor. I hate her_.

* * *

><p>"Ok," Madison said, making the last few stitches on Kyle's newly-assembled corpse where his shoulder was supposed to meet his upper arm. "Let's do this. Have the spell?"<p>

"Yeah," Zoe said nervously, flattening it out carefully before looking at what to do next; Eleonora peered on, but her nose still was not used to the putrid smell of rotting flesh—it was enough to make her sicker and sicker by the moment.

"Are you ready to do this, Eleonora?" Zoe asked. "It says here that the resurgent must trace a pentacle on the chest over the heart. Right here." She pointed her finger to where it showed the symbol and the incantation corresponding to it.

"In blood?" Eleonora asked, reading the text.

"Yeah, then there's all this…uh…what?" Zoe was clearly confused, but Eleonora knew what language the strange incantation was in.

"Latin?"

"Really?"

"Well, I learned it in high school," Eleonora said.

"There's no time to lose," Madison said, looking down. "Trace the pentagram with blood. _Now_!"

Eleonora hesitated a slight bit before swiping some blood from the hollow of the zip-up bag that stored Kyle's body parts and swearing it in the fashion stated and shown on the parchment. She took her time, concentrating as Zoe and Madison watched her. The circle was perfect and round, and the freckled blonde grimaced at the sight—she was officially a witch now. She knew it. She looked at the parchment, which Zoe was holding, and took a few minutes to memorize the incantation.

"I've never needed a…stanza like this," Eleonora stated shyly. "I just hold them and basically—"

"Just _do it_!" Madison demanded. "We're going to get caught!"

Shaking her head, Eleonora looked over at the parchment, where Zoe put her finger beneath the first word of the first line. It also directed for the hands to be positioned in a certain way; one over the top of the head, and the other right above the blood pentagram on his chest. She closed her eyes and recited aloud, concentrating as the other two girls recited the incantation in unison:

"_Spiritus et exaltabo te._

_Regnum a tuis suscitabo__proximam, est forma ._

_Sitis felices et tu respirare ._

_May tuum pulsum ._

_Utinam valeatis ea movere ._

_Sitis felices et tu manducabis et bibes ._

_Tollo tibi ._

_Tollo tibi ._

_T__ollo tibi _."

The chanting continued, and the concentration increased—each witch was determined to bring this assembled corpse back to life, and once the third time chanting came around, Eleonora looked down and saw white light speckled with gray flashing from her hands and being projected into the corpse, but suddenly there was a banging on the door.

"Who's in there?" The voice sounded booming, and it broke their concentration.

"Shit," Madison muttered. "We gotta get out of here! Where is the other door?"

"Over there?"

"Great," she said, running off with the parchment in her hands. "See you guys in a bit."

"Hey!" Eleonora called out. "Get back here!"

"Where are you going?" Zoe joined. No answer. Nothing but the pounding of the door by whoever the booming voice came from.

"Hello?" it called out again.

"Quick!" Zoe squealed anxiously. "We have to hide!"

The two girls looked around, looking for a place to hide, but then Zoe was distracted by Kyle's livid face, looking down at him as she suddenly calmed down. She leaned down to stare into his lifeless eyes, his eyelids only half closed. She then remembered that the spell required the caster to breathe life into the corpse, sighing.

"I blame myself," she whispered tearfully. "I should've been there to stop you from dying. I'm so sorry, Kyle."

She pressed her lips to his frigid, dead ones, breathing life into him just as the door burst open. Eleonora, who had still not found a place to hide, approached a shocked Zoe, who stared back at a man in a white lab coat who walked in toward them aggressively and pulled them away from the table Kyle's corpse rested upon.

"This is a classified area! You're not allowed to be in here!" he shouted.

"Let me go!" Eleonora shouted, struggling to break free from his grasp.

"Stop it!" Zoe shouted. "Help!"

Little did they know that their spell was beginning to take effect—Kyle's spirit returned to his body, and he rose slowly just as the doctor released the two girls from his tight grasp. His back was to the undead being, but Eleonora and Zoe stared in shock as Kyle's upper body rose from its stasis, reaching out violently to grab the coroner and hold him in a chokehold so hard his neck nearly snapped—instead, he was choked to death by the undead Kyle. The newly dead body fell like a ragdoll to the ground, and both girls rushed to him to help him to his feet, grabbing each hand—beofre Zoe could hold one, Kyle slowly raised his hand to caress her face and cup her chin in his hand, an emotionless look in his empty, dark eyes.

"It's me, Zoe! Remember?" she said. "Say something. Anything." No answer.

"Oh no," Eleonora said uncertainly, noticing the spell's defect. "He can't talk."

"We have to get him to the car, and fast," Zoe said.

They tried their hardest to find something to cover the poor, undead young man with something before going out to the car. They managed to find his letter jacket, his jeans, and his shoes, which had been thrown away in the garbage can. He was put in the back seat of the car, and Eleonora was the first to notice a woman with long, blonde curling hair and bohemian clothing sitting in the back seat—it was Misty, whom she had not met yet.

"What the hell—"

"I felt your magick call to me," Misty said. "Sorry for bein' here like this."

"We need to take him home, miss," Zoe said, getting in the driver's seat and buckling in as Eleonora sat in the passenger seat.

"He seems like he's in rough shape, though," Misty said. "I will help him heal up."

"Who _are_ you?" Eleonora asked boldly, looking back at her as the woman's lovely, clear blue eyes looked back at her.

"I'm Misty Day. I live in the swamp. I got a shack over there," she said. "I'll direct you to there. I got somethin' that'll help him."

Once they reached the swamp under Misty's direction, the three got out of the car and all worked together to help Kyle walk with them to the shack the blonde bohemian called home. Eleonora thought the entire way, and realized that when she first came to the academy, Cordelia had mentioned someone with the same name as the woman who had offered to help Kyle recover and adapt again. Misty opened the door and allowed them in, promptly going to her stereo to turn on some music before approaching her special storage drawer to take out the same poultice she had used on Chase the day he fell on Julie's frozen creation made from the marsh. She took out a brush and helped Eleonora and Zoe remove Kyle's clothing—the two girls grimaced at the smell of the stuff she had painted on the stitched wounds.

"What is that?" Eleonora asked.

"Mud 'n gator dung," Misty said, concentrating as she cemented the substance on the wound of his shoulder and upper arm.

"So…you're Misty Day?" the freckled blonde asked.

"Yeah, that's me," she answered, continuing to apply the poultice.

"Everyone thinks you're dead," Zoe said. "You have the power of resurgence." Misty chuckled and nodded.

"Indeed I do."

"She does, too," Zoe said, nudging Eleonora's arm gently; she was focused on the lifeless look in Kyle's eyes, and he grunted in pain when Misty applied the poultice to where he was decapitated. She looked back at Eleonora and smiled softly, admiring her long, flowing light blonde hair.

"No kiddin'," she said with excitement. "I felt your power call out to me when you was tryin' to raise him up from the dead."

"_And_ she can cause storms," Zoe added.

"Hey," Eleonora said with embarrassment. "Don't be telling people. I don't know her."

"It's alright," Misty assured her. "Your secret's safe with me. Once I'm all done with him, he'll be good as new."

"Miss?" Eleonora asked. "Say…uh, they said you died. How did you—"

"I resurrected myself," she replied with a smile, recalling her memory from earlier that spring. "I was at a Pentecostal revival with my family. I found a dead bird on the ground and I picked 'er up. I hated seein' the poor babe suffer, so I held 'er in my two hands and before I knew it, she was flyin' off. Free from everythin'. As for me, well, it wasn't so easy."

"Why?" Misty sighed sadly, biting her lower lip before continuing.

"They all saw me. I lost consciousness," she explained. "Then in the dead o' night, I was dragged outta my house, tied up…burned…it was a nightmare. So real, too."

Both Zoe and Eleonora sighed sadly and frowned hearing her tragic story. Meanwhile, Kyle mindlessly reached up and grabbed Misty's hand, putting it to his forehead as he grunted wearily. She looked down at him, paralleling her own rebirth with his—they had both been dead and brought back to life. Who knows how else they could have been similar?

"I brought myself back. When I came back, poachers were killin' gators in the marsh," she continued. "I resurrected 'em. The gators ate them poachers. I set 'em free back in the water like nothin' happened. That the first thing I remember."

When Zoe and Eleonora took their leave, Misty could see Kyle reaching his hand out, longing for the one he had been smitten with shortly before his death. He remembered dying, and before that, he remembered developing a crush on Zoe, admiring her honey brown eyes and light brown hair, and her warm, soft, gentle face that was too pretty to be single. The blonde crouched down to his level and held his face in her hands.

"They'll be back, soon. You'll be all better again," Misty said kindly.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN:**

**Want to see more? Leave Reviews! What do you think so far? ****Favorite and Follow lovelies! ****Thank you so much and happy reading! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

"Misty? Misty?"

Julie had closed up shop two days later—they wanted to pay a surprise visit to their new friend mainly because Chase wanted to. Julie didn't quite know Misty enough to be friends with her, but somehow he had a connection with the both of them. Chase was sprinting toward the shack he remembered, and finally saw her—she was wearing a bright red dress with a frayed skirt, a wide-brimmed hat that made her hair stand out, a black scarf worn as a shawl, and knee-high brown boots. The sound of her name being called caught her attention—she was watering the flowers in front of her abode.

"Oh, hello," she said with a friendly smile. "I ain't seen you guys."

"We just closed up shop in town," Julie said, catching up to her brother at long last. Unlike the last time seeing her, Julie noticed that Misty was wearing makeup; black eyeliner, in specific, and light peach blush to add color to her face.

"Shop?"

"Yes, we work there," the woman with platinum, ice blonde hair said.

"What's it called?" Misty asked. "I'll stop by sometime."

"Earth Age," Julie responded, pulling her coat closer to her.

"What do you sell?"

"Oh, candles, incense, books, jewelry, herbs…_readings_," the striking woman listed.

"Like psychic readings?" Misty asked.

"Yes," Julie said.

"So you see things?"

"Yes. I was born with it. That's what I'm best at other than controlling ice," the woman giggled, her gray eyes looking into Misty's cheerful blue ones.

"Come on in," Misty said, putting the green watering pot down and going to the door of her shack. "But keep it down, alright?"

"Why, Misty?" Chase asked with childlike wonder in his eyes. Unlike the last time she had seen him, he was not wearing a baseball cap—the sunset shone on his dark blonde hair, making it look like the color of flax. She also saw that his chin had gotten better.

"He's sleeping," she said in a whisper.

She opened the door and they walked in, seeing a pallid young man with blond hair lying down on the bed. Curious, Chase walked over to him and looked down; Julie stayed behind, and even from the short distance she noticed a wound in his neck that was covered in the poultice. It was just then that she walked over and looked down curiously, gently moving the collar of his shirt aside to see that the gash went all around.

"Oh no," she muttered softly, looking down at the poultice-covered wound. "What happened?"

"Long story," Misty said, turning on the stereo to Fleetwood Mac and turning down the volume as the first chorus began:

"_Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night  
>and wouldn't you love to love her?<br>Takes to the sky like a bird in flight  
>and who will be her lover?<br>All your life you've never seen  
>woman, taken by the wind<br>Would you stay if she promised you heaven?  
>Will you ever win?<em>"

Julie looked over to see Misty swaying to the music, and Chase, who had smiled upon hearing the first few words, went over and sat on the beanbag chair next to the dancing woman, looking up at her as her shawl's fringes lightly brushed his face. Associating good memories with the song, he smiled and swayed in his seat.

"Miss Jackie loved this song," he said excitedly.

"Oh?" she asked. "Who's Miss Jackie?"

"Misty?" Julie asked as she gestured her over; the blonde, curly-haired woman complied and walked over toward the bed Kyle was resting on and Julie was standing over. Their eyes met, and Julie could see everything that had happened just by looking at the undead being and feeling his hand, the dead look in his eyes unwavering as they stared off trudgingly into space.

"He was resurrected, wasn't he?" she asked.

"Yes," Misty said, amazed by her psychic talents. "I've been taking care of him since."

"Two girls. One of them I've met formally in my store," Julie said, explaining every piece of her vision as it presented itself to her; each vision was clear as day. "Freckles, blonde hair on one…the other…well, I never met her but I can see her face."

"What do you see?" Misty asked curiously. Julie's eyes were closed as she delved deeper into her mind, concentrating as her intuition and psychic ability sharpened like a telescope coming into focus.

"Brown hair…" She paused to think some more. "Brown eyes…a very classical face…beautiful, though…"

"Zoe is her name," the bohemian woman said. "The other—"

"Eleonora," Julie cut in. "I _know_ her. They were both here in your shack with you. I sense there was a third involved, but I don't sense her energy in this environment."

"Amazing," Misty muttered, her clear blue eyes lost and enchanted by Julie's pure white beauty and the abilities she possessed.

Within a half hour, Kyle had opened his eyes and turned his head to see Chase kneeling next to the bed to get a better look at him. The man was rather grossed out at the smell of the poultice, but he was still full of childlike curiosity as he took his pallid hand into his gray mittened one and looked down, trying to talk to him.

"Hello," Chase began. "My name's Chase. Are you feeling well?" No answer.

"It don't look like you are. You got cuts all over you. Were you in a car accident?" Not even a grunt came from Kyle as his lifeless dark eyes looked up at him and took in his image.

"Why aren't you talking? Speak," Chase commanded. "_Please_?"

Meanwhile, Misty had prepared some peppermint and sage tea for her and Julie to enjoy while getting better acquainted with each other—Chase had a cup, too, but didn't like the earthy taste. Julie, being no stranger to herbs, knew that both of her selections were perfect for easing the mind. Misty's gaze was back at Chase, who looked down at Kyle's lifeless body frantically and nervously, trying to make conversation.

"Julie, can I ask you somethin'?"

"What is it?" the striking, ice-haired woman replied as she sipped her tea. Misty leaned in closer, making eye contact and speaking low enough for Chase not to hear her.

"Is he…uh…_slow_?" Julie shook her head and shrugged.

"I don't think so," she responded. "He's just…" She sighed, "_very_ immature."

"Has he always been like that?" Misty asked, sipping her tea. Julie glanced back at her brother, who frowned and moped because Kyle could not speak to him; not because he didn't want to, but because he could not physically do so. He was mute.

"Yes," Julie said sadly. "I've had to take care of him all these years."

"What about your parents, though?" Misty was interested in hearing Julie and what she had to say, and her blue eyes were attentive and vigilant.

"We don't know who they are," the striking woman confessed.

"Oh," Misty frowned. "Where did you live? Are you from Louisiana?"

"No. New York. We were in an orphanage, and even though, you know, we weren't the most well-liked kids in their 'family', we were lucky enough for one of the social workers to adopt us. We called her Miss Jackie," Julie explained. "She named us and raised us from the time we were babies."

"Oh, that's sweet." Misty sipped her tea once more with only one gulp left to spare. "How'd you get down here?"

"I was sent here. Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies…" The intuitive with strikingly pale features trailed off. "I was supposed to be sent alone, but I refused."

"Why?"

"Because I was going _no where_ without my brother," Julie said emphatically. "I've always watched over him and protected him and stood up for him when other kids were mean to him. I want to _continue_ doing that. The poor thing doesn't have a clue about life. Sure, he gets on my nerves at times, but he's my brother and I love him to pieces. I'm all he has in this world to take care of him. I don't trust anyone else to take care of him."

Misty understood her better now—she admired that she had someone in her life who was special even if it were only her brother. Even Chase himself seemed special but in a certain kind of way. She glanced over, her eyes fixed on the gray mittens that were on his hands. She knew very well it was hot down in Louisiana—he must've been hot wearing those all day.

"Another question," Misty began, sighing. "Why does he wear gloves? It's awfully hot down here. He ain't adapted yet?"

"No, it's not that," Julie said, taking the last sip of her tea. "He's…uh…got a condition."

"Really?"

"Yes. He can't even tie his shoes in the morning," the woman added. "Doctors can't fix him. It's too severe. He was born with it, too. It's sad, and people made fun of him for it when we were in New York and we were kids."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Misty said, resting her teacup on the table next to her. "I feel terrible."

"Don't" Julie said. "He's a human, just like you and me. He's just…very special."

"He sure is," Misty said, glancing over at where the man was standing.

Chase seemed unusually curious about Kyle, but he was totally oblivious to what had happened; perhaps he had indeed been listening to Julie dictating her visions aloud to Misty but forgot them? Either way, he was lost—his gray eyes looked down at Kyle, frowning with a prominent lower lip as he went on his knees and placed his elbows next to his resting body; the undead being turned his head and looked up at him, the intensity in his deep, dark brown eyes almost coming back to life. Meanwhile, Julie removed her jacket and put it behind her—Misty looked back at her new friend, seeing a few strange symbols tattooed into her pure white skin. They looked like strange letters, and the ink was black as night against her moon-white skin.

"You got tattoos?" Misty asked.

"Yes," Julie said with a chuckle, rolling her sleeve up slightly to reveal the whole of it, and the bohemian woman gasped.

"Oh my! What are those?"

"It's called Futhark," Julie said. "The Norse alphabet. Runes, if you will."

"What does it say?" Misty said, shifting herself as she struggled to read her arm.

"It says, 'many travels, many fortunes'," the woman with striking white beauty said. "I have a sigil on my upper chest near my shoulder, see." Julie pulled down the top of her shirt to reveal a symbol with a circular frame and lines, much like a snowflake.

"Ooh!" Misty was delighted to see it and giggled; Chase's attention was caught and he walked over and looked down at his sister, a blank expression on his face.

"Ægisjálmur," Julie said, her pronunciation perfect. "Protection and invincibility in battle. It was used quite often."

"But you're a witch, right?" Misty asked.

"Yes, you can say that," Julie said with a nod. "I am a pagan."

"And you got tattoos, Chase?"

"No," he answered. "They hurt. I hate needles."

"I wouldn't mind one," Misty said. "They must have meaning."

"They sure do," Julie said with a happy sigh, her mind trailing off to another world. "They sure do."

* * *

><p>Marie Delphine LaLaurie the housemaid—she hated to condescend like this, but she knew Fiona would lock her back in the box and bury her where she had been found if she were to resist. She was given new clothing to wear, which included a black dress that fell just below the knees, black hose, black pumps with kitten heels, and a white lace collar reminiscent of her time. In the 1830s, she was one of the richest women in the French Quarter; now, in 2013, she was just above the rank of a slave. When she first became the maid for the academy, she was mortified at the thought of having to serve a black girl—that girl was Queenie, and she took no baloney from the former socialite.<p>

One morning at breakfast, Queenie watched as LaLaurie set Eleonora's breakfast in front of her—it consisted of bacon, eggs, and a piece of cinnamon raisin toast cut diagonally. As she watched, she looked at the former socialite and remembered being knocked out with a candlestick by her the first moment she walked into the atrium of the academy. Nanhad been reading a book, and had heard a familiar voice—it had, again, been from Madame LaLaurie, but only this time she was begging to leave her confinement in Fiona's bedroom; she had spent a few days sitting down in the corner lounge chair. She had displayed her disdain for the fact that the USpresident, Barack Obama, was black. Fiona had voted for him—twice. She continued to convey her racist attitudes even in front of the girls, and that morning was no exception.

"How'd that bitch blind side me with that candle stick?" Queenie sneered; she still had a headache from the incident. LaLaurie stiffed upper lip and looked down at her just like she had done her slaves all those years ago.

"How _dare_ you open your _foul_ mouth to me, nigress!" she shouted angrily, her hands clenched in tight fists.

"Ex_cuse_ me?" the witch replied, getting aggravated with LaLaurie.

"I may be a maid," the woman continued in a sharp, harsh voice, "but there're _limits_ to my servitude!" Queenie leaned in a little, her black eyes penetrating up at the racist, cruel woman.

"You'd best put that food down in front of me before I frisbee this plate right at your head," she demanded assertively, remaining calm even though she was getting angry. LaLaurie had no words for Queenie—she shook her head and pushed the cart over toward her—the rest of the girls watched as LaLaurie suddenly took Queenie's newly-full plate of food and chucked it against the wall. Eleonora was definitely in shock; she's lived for how long, she asked herself, how is it possible?

"I will not stoop to serve _your_ kind!" the woman sneered, provoking Queenie to jump from her seat and nearly elbow her in the face—Fiona, who was just walking in, stopped the fight with her presence alone. Nan, who looked up in horror, tried to maintain her composure as LaLaurie looked at the Supreme dressed in black.

"What is going on? Stop!" the woman demanded.

"I will _not_ serve her!" LaLaurie retorted. "She is below me."

"You know what, Delphine?" Fiona began, holding the back of the chair and leaning forward menacingly. "From now on, you're gonna be Queenie's _personal_ slave."

"Do you have _any_ idea to whom you're speakin'?" the woman retorted.

"ENOUGH!" Fiona shouted. "I have spoken! You will comply, or back into the box you will go!"

_Good going_, Queenie thought.

**A/N:**

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	9. Chapter 9

Later that day, Eleonora and Zoe set out for the heart of New Orleans in an attempt to get away from the turmoil LaLaurie was causing at the academy. Zoe still had Kyle on her mind, but she knew it was not the right time just yet to go to Misty's and visit him. They were walking, and for the first time, Eleonora wore a hat like the other girls and Fiona—it was black but had a silk ribbon around the top to make it stand out. Her long, flowing straight light blonde hair blew in the wind as she glanced over at the friend walking next to her, who was dressed in a black blouse with a matching skirt and boots with a stylish hat that flopped to the side.

"I wonder how Kyle is doing," Zoe wondered.

"I'm sure he is doing much better than he was last we saw him," Eleonora replied. "I wouldn't worry too much."

"I'm curious, Eleonora," the girl with light brown hair said, her honey brown eyes looking at her new friend as they stopped. "H-How did you feel while performing the spell?"

"To be honest," the blonde began. "I felt…uh…well…hesitant."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Eleonora said simply.

"But why?" Zoe asked. "Is it because he can't talk anymore?"

"No. It's because I have not resurrected anyone since I was twelve," the freckled blonde girl said with a sad sigh. "I honestly did not think it would work, but of course, I guess it did."

"I was the one who breathed life into him," Zoe added as they continued to walk.

"Then he killed the coroner," Eleonora recalled. "I did_not_ want that to happen. Nonetheless, it did. I feel awful…" She stopped again, sighing sadly.

"Eleonora," Zoe muttered, looking at her sympathetically. "Don't feel bad. We _all _had a hand in it. In fact, it was Kyle who killed him. Not us."

"Not _directly_," Eleonora said, looking into her honey brown eyes. "I still feel terrible."

Zoe felt really bad for her new friend, whose green eyes were filled with worry and guilt as she took her in a comforting embrace, letting her rest her head on her shoulder as she gave her back a gentle pat. The blonde, strangely, did not cry—but looked to the side to notice she was back at Earth Age, the occult shop Julie and Chase worked at. The girl with honey brown hair let her go and stared into her eyes, assuring she was feeling a bit better about the situation.

"Are you alright?" she asked, glancing to the side.

"I think so," Eleonora said with a timid, slow nod. "We're here."

They entered the store and looked around at the wide array of products they had sold on a daily basis—books nestled in the large bookshelf, different shapes and colors of candles on display next to incense in another part, jewelry hanging on a small rack in the middle of the store where tumbled gemstones were below in clear drawers for easy access, herbs in clear, small bags with labels hung on another display near a tapestry-styled curtain that was half open. Chase, who was restocking white jar devotional candles, heard the footsteps and looked back with a huge smile.

"I remember you!" he exclaimed happily, finishing his restocking as he ran over to Eleonora and smiled yet again. "I'm Chase."

"I think we've met, sir," the freckled blonde said, readjusting her hat.

"And who are you?" Chase asked, looking at Zoe's timeless, soft-toned beauty.

"I'm Zoe Benson," she said.

"It's nice to meet you, Zoe," he said with the excitement of a child. "I also want to say I'm sorry."

"Why?" Eleonora asked.

"My sister is with someone right now doing a reading," he said, his gray gaze alternating between the two girls. "She told me to stock but I want to say hi to people and make new friends."

"Oh," the freckled blonde said, lost in her thoughts as she focused on the rich color of his flaxen hair. _He seems slow_, she thought, _I hope there's nothing wrong with him_.

Behind the curtain, Helen had come in for a reading out of curiosity—she had never received one, at least not in the way Julie had read people with a combination of auras, her intuition, cards, runes, scrying, trances. It was a unique experience, yet Helen, who was told not to smoke, disobeyed the woman and kept puffing out nicotine. This ousted the use of trances, from which she could allegedly see other realms and gain messages from the spirits on the other side. She instead used her Tarot deck and a familiar spread to give her a reading. She also sensed a dark, negative presence that came in with the woman—Helen's aura was pitch black infused with shades of cloudy red, dusty pink, and rust, and once she entered for her reading, Julie felt extremely uncomfortable and threatened.

This feeling carried on throughout the reading, and she tried to not meet her gaze in Helen's direction, fearing malicious intent from the woman as she spread the cards and interpreted them in a like manner. The spread resembled a cross, and once she got to the outcome card, she saw that it was The Tower, and began to speak whatever she knew she could while keeping her gaze down at the cards or one of the candles lit on the table.

"I see a collapse," Julie stated. "It may not be in the literal sense, but something in your life will surely end. It could be an ideal you once held true to your heart, the loss of someone, or…" She sighed before looking at the candle, pretending to look into Helen's fiery hazel eyes, "a rude awakening."

"Better not be my house," Helen said, taking a puff from her cigarette. "The French Quarter is not as good as people say it is."

"Ma'am," Julie said, taking another look at the aura of the extremely beautiful, ageless older woman. "You…you have a _lot_ of discord in your life. A lot of malice and negativity."

"Well, tell me how you _really_ feel," Helen chided coldly, furrowing her eyebrows inward.

"I'm really sensing this on you. It is very unpleasing," Julie said with slight fear, trying not to let it show. "I don't want to sound offensive, but I want you to know that I am always honest with people I read for."

"Spit it out," the woman demanded. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Well, it's your aura," the woman with snow-colored beauty replied, looking at the upper right corner of Helen's head; she noticed she had platinum blonde hair only slightly darker than her own. "It's black. You…you are very dark. You have guilt about something…you're very resentful…" She focused more, seeing the rust color set into her aura again. "Yet you have a power…"

"Now, we're talking!" Helen exclaimed—Eleonora, who was looking at the bookshelves, heard the familiar voice from behind the curtain. _Mom_, she thought as an all-too-familiar chill went up her spine.

"But ma'am, this power is very vulnerable to being abused, and by the looks of it, you've abused it way too much," Julie added, trying to stay calm in this distressing situation. Helen cackled out loud, sounding as evil as a demon; Eleonora hated that laugh.

"Yeah, what else do you see? I'm running late for a hair appointment," Helen scolded, ruffling her shoulder-length, wavy platinum hair.

"I see…" Julie focused more, seeing a rusty pink come into view. "Whoa…you have a big sex drive for a woman."

"Yeah, _all_ the men love me," Helen bragged, adjusting the top of her gathered, bright crimson dress enough to subtly show a hint of cleavage; a large amount of spillage from her large, round breasts resulted. "So, you're right. How much am I paying you?"

"Having a large sex drive counts for fertility, too. You must have had many children," Julie said, taking the first glance into her eyes for the entire time of reading for her. Helen blew out smoke and shook her head, slamming a palm down on the table.

"Nope, you're wrong," she dismissed nonchalantly as she stood up. "I didn't like the way you read. You're a _shitty_ psychic. I'm outta here."

Once Helen opened the tapestry curtain, she glanced over to see Eleonora skimming through a few pages on a book about mastery of magick. She gasped once she looked at her daughter wearing a stylish black hat with white fabric wrapped around the top, a gray button-up shirt and a black skirt with matching boots. Eleonora was also shocked to see her mother even though she heard her distinctive, seductive voice from being at the bookshelf with sale books. Helen was clad in a form-fitting bright red dress, devil red pumps, and a fur cape-styled shawl on her shoulders, which she had just put on from being at her reading with Julie.

"Mom?" she asked. Julie gasped, a thousand thoughts racing through her head. _I suppose she only had one child_, she thought, _for once, my visions were wrong_.

"Oh, hello, my _darling_ daughter. How has school been?" the woman asked, walking up to her and looking into her verdant eyes with a subtle harshness in her own—Eleonora felt intimidated even though she was used to it.

"It's going well," the freckled blonde said to her mother. "What were you doing here?"

"Just getting a reading. For fun," she said cynically, glancing back at the tapestry. "I'm not coming back here again."

"Why? Julie is nice," Eleonora said.

"She's a _dumb_ bitch," Helen whispered, glancing over at Chase; he tried to be friendly, smiling and waving at her with a mittened hand.

"Hi!" he said cheerfully; the woman rolled her eyes rudely in response, confused about why he was wearing gloves.

"I'll see _you _around, Eleonora. Bye."

As her mother slinked gracefully out of the small store, Julie peeked out of the curtain and walked out slowly, ruffling the skirt of her ivory maxi dress with sleeves as she grimaced. Eleonora and Zoe both noticed that she looked unhealthy as she leaned against the beam of the mock doorway the tapestry hung from. The freckled blonde walked over, looking at her friend with concern.

"Are you ok?" Eleonora asked.

"You look sick," Zoe said. Julie shook her head, nearly falling to the floor as she stumbled on her feet; both girls struggled to bring her to a chair in the reading area, sitting her down as Chase, who noticed his sister being visibly unwell, brought in an open water bottle for her. She took a sip and put a hand to her forehead, pushing her ice blonde bangs aside.

"That woman…had the _ugliest_, most _negative_ aura I have come across in my _entire_ life," Julie explained weakly.

"That's my mother," Eleonora said with a puffy sigh. "I'm sorry about her. She isn't nice."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"What happened?" Zoe asked, looking at her with concerned honey brown eyes.

"That reading took it out of me. This never happens with anybody I read for," the striking woman replied; Chase approached her, using his power of water to soak his mitten to use as a damp cloth for his sister's forehead; each of the two girls was amazed to see his dripping glove and how he had done it.

"You have a power?" Eleonora asked with shock.

"Water. I was a baby when I got it," Chase said, dabbing his sister's pale brow. "Julie can freeze things. Can't you, Julie?"

"Yeah, yeah," his sister said, getting slightly aggravated—she loved her brother to death but she hated when he stated the obvious; then again, it wasn't so obvious to the two girls. She regained some strength and looked up at them, her soulful gray eyes shifting left to right to take in their images.

"Are you alright, now?" Eleonora asked.

"I will be," Julie replied. "Say, are you in Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies?"

"Yeah," Zoe replied. _How does she know_, she asked herself.

"You know, I was a part of the academy, too, once," she said. "The hats bring me back. I was sent down here when I was nineteen and a half."

"_I_'m nineteen," Eleonora responded.

"Hm, I wouldn't have guessed," the striking, ice-blonde woman said, sitting up straighter as she regained herself. "But yeah, I was sent down here. Chase and I are originally from up north. We lived in New York."

"Same," Eleonora said, her green eyes widening slightly.

"We were in an orphanage on Long Island," Julie said; Chase looked at his sister as she explained a bit of their origins. "Nassau County Children's Home."

"Miss Jackie adopted us. She was like our mom," Chase added, his smile oblivious. "She took extra special care of us."

"I feel bad for you, Eleonora," Julie said, looking up at her as she slowly tried to stand up on her own two, booted feet. "Your mother is very mean, but at least you have one, still."

"Eh," the freckled blonde said.

"So why are you no longer part of the academy?" Zoe asked Julie. Chase gasped at the question, but his jaw dropped when Julie answered.

"Well, I was only there for two years…"

* * *

><p><em>"Ma'am<em>_," Julie had asked, approaching her and the Council of Witchcraft during their scheduled meeting—everyone was seated, and Myrtle Snow, the eccentric, wildly-dressed head of the group, sat in the middle of the table next to a man with a crazy tie and a woman with a typewriter. "Chase is my brother, and he has been here with me for—"_

_"__There aren't supposed to be any boys," Myrtle said. "Our institution is only for exceptional young _ladies_. We allowed him in here because it was only way we could get you in here. Plus, your…uh…home gave us specific instructions."_

_"__But all he's been doing is scrubbing floors, washing dishes, cleaning the bathrooms," Julie protested, looking down at her pointed leather boots. "He's been treated like nothing more than a slave. He even sleeps in a cot in the basement. How could you treat him like that? He's human!" _

_"__Don't raise your voice to us," Quentin, the only male in the council, scolded as he pointed the tip of his pen to the young woman._

_"__I'm not," Julie protested, looking down and fidgeting with her fingers. "I just don't want my brother be treated like shit anymore."_

_"__He's a retard," Cecily, the woman with the typewriter sneered._

_"__Well, _he_'__s a male! Myrtle!" Julie exclaimed, pointing at Quentin._

_"__Your brother has no power," the woman with bright red hair replied. _

_"__Yes, he _does_!" Julie exclaimed angrily. "He can control water. Are you going to sit here and tell me that I don't know my own brother?"_

_"__He's nothing to us," Cecily replied. The young woman pushed back the top layer of her ice-white hair, her soulful eyes piercing them all like icy daggers as tears welled in her eyes; just when they began to fall, they froze solid to her cheeks._

_"__How could you be so cruel?" she asked, shaking her head with incredulity. "He's my _brother_! He has just as much a chance as_ I _do in this…this…this__place!"_

_"__We will have to remove you from the academy, then," Cecily said threateningly. Julie gasped, turning her back to see Chase after sensing his presence. He walked closer to his sister, setting the mop against the doorway and frowning toward his sister as tears formed in his eyes. He wiped them away with his gloved hand before they could fall._

_"__J-Julie?" he asked with a child-like whine. "We can't leave. We have no where to go."_

_"__Hush, boy," Quentin commanded. "Go back to work."_

_"_No one_tells him what to do but _me_!" Julie shouted, rejecting the council member._

_"__Enough!" Myrtle called out, tossing her hands up in the air. "I'm sorry, but we can no longer have you here. We will pack up your things, and you will need to find another place to call home."_

_"__You can't do this!" Chase cried out, tears flowing from his eyes like waterfalls. "We don't have a home!"_

_"__This isn't over," Julie chided, holding out her hand and concentrating enough to freeze Quentin and Cecily, those two jerks, solid with a thick layer of ice covering their forms._

* * *

><p>"You <em>froze<em> them?" Zoe asked. "They're still with Myrtle, though. How did they—"

"Probably someone with pyrokinesis," Julie hypothesized. "The Supreme may have unfroze them. Fire and ice can cancel each other out."

"I'm so sorry that had to happen," Eleonora said, her gaze drifting off into space—how did her mother zap Julie of energy to make her feel ill? What had she done? She was extremely curious, the image of the scarlet woman with platinum hair in her mind as she saw the sun's rays shine on the tree outside the shop.


	10. Chapter 10

That night, Cordelia and Fiona were sitting at the bar in the seedy jazz club that rested in the heart of the historic French Quarter—a saxophone blared among the sound of trombones, a deep bass and clanging drums as people sat in their seats enjoying drinks or standing up dancing. As Fiona took a sip of her tonic and gin, she looked over on the dance floor area to see an extraordinarily beautiful woman with bright, platinum blonde hair and high, prominent cheekbones with her red-dressed curvy hourglass figure swaying about scandalously to the seductive jazz being played. She was dancing with a man who seemed to be taking turns with another, but the woman didn't seem to mind. Fiona noticed that she looked incredibly young—_what is her secret_, she thought.

"So Hank and I went to the doctor," Cordelia said, distracting her mother as she sipped from her red wine.

"Yes?"

"We can't have any children at all. I'm infertile," she said sadly with a frown.

"Well, of course, we witches are different with how we can conceive," Fiona replied with a smile written in her parted lips. "Did you try that spell I had given you?"

"It didn't work," Cordelia said. "We've tried and tried. I even went to Miss Laveau for help."

"_What_?!" Fiona was in shock—how could she have turned to her enemy and rival?

"She didn't help me anyways, though. She offered a fertility charm for $50,000 but then pulled it back from me. She said she would never give anything to her enemy, let alone her child," her daughter said sadly, feeling discouraged and as though all hope was lost. "I don't know what else to do. I'm getting older and I feel terrible that I can't have a child."

"Well, you'll need to keep trying, then. Don't stop," Fiona said.

"Hey, that's Mrs. Mortenson," Cordelia noticed, sipping her glass of wine as she saw the large-breasted, beautiful platinum-haired woman step up to the level of the bar and look around with three men, one of whom had joined them and was spellbound by Helen's beauty, for places to sit. They found the only empty seats to be near the Supreme and her daughter—Helen did not realize Cordelia was next to her until she spoke after taking a sip of her wine.

"Pink Lady," Helen told the bartender, pointing her finger directly as she saw the lustful look in the bartender's eyes.

"Mrs. Mortenson, fancy seeing you here," Cordelia finally said cordially. Helen's fierce hazel eyes looked to her right and she smirked to greet her—Fiona admired her this close, even though the most prominent feature was her spillage of cleavage pouring slightly over the neckline of her bright crimson dress. _So young_, she thought, _I wonder how old she is_.

"Good to see you too, Cordelia," she said in a monotone, taking out a cigarette and concentrating on the tip to light it with her power of fire.

Fiona gasped slightly at the sight, watching her first puff as she looked down and put her metal, floral-embossed cigarette holder away in her black leather purse. She looked over to the men, who sat next to her like a cult following down the way of the bar, and wondered how Helen was able to attract so many at who knew how old. She fluffed her blonde hair and her hazel-brown eyes looked at the youthful, but mature older woman.

"Cordelia," she finally said. "Bring your friend. A booth just opened up."

Helen abandoned the men she was dancing with to join the Supreme and her daughter at the booth table. By this time, Fiona was intrigued by the magnetism and sensational natural beauty and youth of this woman. She had been turned down by Marie Laveau for her secrets, Delphine was not willing to help her, but Helen; she seemed to have it all right in front of her. Her shoulder-length hair, a snowy platinum blonde, was free of grays; her eyes smoldered like freshly-made glass with their intense hazel hue; her face was free of wrinkles; her body was uber curvaceous with a generous bosom and small-waist with contrasting hips; she dressed very well, which Fiona could relate to. She saw Helen sipping from her glass, sighing softly.

"How has my daughter been at your school, Miss Goode?" the woman asked.

"She's no trouble at all," Fiona smirked wickedly. "She's a _darling_."

"I really must say," Cordelia interjected calmly. "She is rather…gifted."

"See? I told you so," Helen replied. "Now, I can assume you don't regret letting her be a part of your…_prestigious_ academy, after all, hmm?"

"N-Not at all," Cordelia said nervously, intimidated by the woman's fiery gaze. Fiona then cut in, changing the subject to fit her intentions.

"How old are you, Mrs. Mortenson?" Helen shook her head and puffed out smoke from her cigarette before pressing the butt into the ashtray; she had a defensive look hidden in her perpetually beautiful face. Her soft, red-painted lips were parted in a haughty smirk.

"Say, weren't you raised to _not_ ask personal questions?" she retorted, sipping from her glass. "What's it to you, anyway?"

"I only ask because, well, you look like you took a huge gulp from the fountain of youth," Fiona said, putting her cigarette out in the ashtray and taking a sip of her tonic and gin. "What's your secret?" Cordelia glared at her mother sideways before taking another sip of wine, eager to hear Helen's response.

"I don't _have_ one," the woman replied, taking the last gulp of her cocktail.

"I'll guess your age, then," Fiona chided; Helen rolled her eyes and looked at Cordelia as if to crack a joke, pointing her finger toward the older woman.

"This'll be fun," the ageless woman replied arrogantly; her voice lowered to a whisper. "No one _ever_ gets it right."

"Oh, but I may," Fiona said slyly, hearing her as she rested her chin in her hands, her elbows resting on the table. "Hmm…first guess. Twenty-six?"

"Really? I could do better than that!" Helen said grouchily. "I have a nineteen year old daughter."

"Alright, then. Thirty-five?" Fiona guessed.

"No, you're a little off," Helen said. "One more guess."

"Thirty-four?"

"I'm forty-six!" the woman finally said, taking a good look at Fiona. "I'll be forty-seven in October."

"Whew, you don't look it," Fiona said with a sense of cruelty in her smile. "No grays, no wrinkles. There's got to be a reason why."

"Good genes," Helen replied, raising her eyebrows while she closed her eyes briefly in thought. "I'll quote my mother and what she told me." She cleared her throat a little. "'The cold preserved my face,' she said. Of course, her country was cold. She didn't age, either."

"Well, we know now that Eleonora will age well," Cordelia said soft with a kind smile, hearing the band change their key and song on the small stage to a slower song.

"We'll see about _that_," the woman replied, sounding spiteful. "Look at _her_ and look at _me_. _I_'m the one people want to see. _She_'s a dog."

"I think you have a pretty daughter," Fiona said; _she's as wretched as me_, she thought. "She's still young."

"Uh, I have to use the bathroom," Cordelia cut in, looking at the two women as she stood up.

"I'm coming with you. I have to redo my lipstick, anyway."

The powder room was the first room that came before the bathroom as Cordelia opened the door. Helen made her way to the mirror, the round light bulbs that surrounded the reflective surface bouncing off her shoulder-length platinum hair. The other woman went into a stall, and Helen simply looked and admired herself. She reached her hands up and fluffed her hair before reaching into her bag for her mascara wand. Her eyelashes were already quite long and full as they naturally were, but the mascara framed her almond eyes perfectly—once Cordelia came out, she was already beginning to apply her lipstick, a bright shade of red that added to her smooth, marble-like pallor.

"I love that shade of lipstick," she smiled, approaching a focused Helen, whose eyes burned like fire in her reflection. "What's it called?"

"Ravish Me Red," the woman replied proudly.

"You know, I can never find a good shade of lipstick. I always stick with pink," Cordelia said, looking in the mirror. "Kudos to you for being…bold."

"You know what they say," Helen said, putting the cover back on her lipstick. "A true classic never goes out of style. You should try red."

Helen looked down to put her lipstick back in her purse, while Cordelia took once last glance in the mirror before looking to her right. A mysterious hooded figure dressed in black stood there, and before she could say anything, she felt something be splashed on her face violently—it was not water, not a drink, nothing of that nature; it was burning, much like freshly brewed coffee but more severe. It was like fire in a liquid form, and she let out an agonizing scream as the heat burned through her face and in her eyes.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHH!"

"Oh my god!" Helen exclaimed upon hearing her cries, looking to see that Cordelia's face was mostly red and severely burned. She did not look in horror, but saw to hooded figure seem to float by her and she held out her hand, concentrating enough to set the person's black robe on fire. The flames seemed to burst on the figure, and the person began to scream as the heat seethed and charred its way through the fabric to consume their flesh.

"Asshole! You'll pay!" Helen spat, hissing like a king cobra with venom dripping from knife-sharp fangs as she telekinetically made the perpetrator collapse to his knees as she made the flames consume him rapidly enough to turn him to ash before the two women.

Cordelia was still frantic, covering her severely burned face as she felt her way blindly around for the door of the powder room. Helen rushed over and helped the woman to her feet, gasping at the grotesque injury to her face as she helped her out of the powder-bathroom combo and called out for help.

"FIONA! FIONA!" Helen shouted.

"HELP! THIS HURTS!" Cordelia screamed, crying intensely with extreme pain.

"Cordelia?!" Fiona asked, turning her attention toward them and running away from the booth. The younger woman seemed to collapse to her feet, and Helen knelt down to meet her at her level. Fiona, however, took a moment to let what happened sink in before leaning down to hold her daughter's face in her hands, crying out in distress as tears streamed down her face.

"Call an ambulance!" she shouted, her eyes getting bloodshot. "Please! Someone! Call an ambulance!"

* * *

><p>"I don't know what I would've done if you weren't there with us tonight."<p>

It was close to midnight when Cordelia was finally wheeled out of the emergency room and put into an actual room; they were both fatigued out of their minds, and Helen's feet hurt from the heels that matched her crimson red, formfitting dress. Fiona, still in shock and distressed about the incident, looked down at her daughter's face; there were layers of pus and adipocerous tissue that was struggling to form a brand new layer of skin to heal itself. The substance that had been violently splashed in her face, revealed to be sulphuric acid, had unfortunately delayed the healing process and, the doctors thought, made her blind. Helen pulled up a chair and sat next to Fiona, who looked down at a sleeping Cordelia, at peace with her pain.

"It came out of nowhere," Helen said, her hazel eyes looking down in horror.

"What was it? Who did it?" she asked frantically.

"I don't know who. I didn't get a good—"

"Who did it?!" Fiona asked loudly. "They will pay!"

"I DIDN'T SEE THEIR FACE!" Helen barked furiously, looking at the woman with clenched fists down at her sides—Fiona was terrified of her sudden burst of anger. The platinum-haired woman walked away, her red heels slowly clicking against the tile floor of the hospital room as she made her way to the large window with a nighttime view. She turned to make eye contact and continued; "the person wore all black. Their face was hidden. It happened in the women's room, but I don't know if the person was a man or woman. My guess would be a woman…"

"Where did they go afterwards? Back into a stall to hide?" Fiona asked, her usual sly, calculating tone making itself apparent through her distress.

"No. I guess you could say the heat began to rise. They're nothing but a pile of soot now," Helen said trivially, a harsh whisper to her voice. Fiona looked at her straight in the eye, wondering what she meant; within moments, it all made sense.

"You…_you_ made them pay?" she asked with shock and surprise. "But…but you don't even know me _or_ my daughter very well."

"I did what I had to do," Helen said, walking back toward the chair she was sitting in; she then proceeded to break the rules and light a cigarette in the hospital room—it was forbidden, but she couldn't care less. She looked back at Fiona with angry fire in her eyes. "Besides, the fucker had it coming."

The Supreme began to realize the potential Helen held—she definitely came across as powerful, but when she remembered her lighting her cigarette by way of pyrokinesis, she gasped, looking at the woman in red keeping she and her daughter company in the hospital. She had only just met this woman, but felt a connection with her on a deep level, albeit not profound. Apart from this, Helen was ageless at forty-six—something Fiona could never be.

"Helen, is it?" she asked.

"Yeah, call me Helen. I feel old when people call me by my last name," the woman replied, taking a puff of her cigarette.

"Ironic," Fiona chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, anyways. I want to thank you. If you hadn't been there, Cordelia would have been…" She sighed contemplatively, thinking of what to say, "in a_worse_ position than she is in now."

"It's nothing, really," the woman replied, taking a drag of her cigarette as she fluffed her hair. "I was born with these abilities, and I use them every day to my advantage. If someone messes with me, they're playing with fire. Not a very smart move. I've seen it."

"Well, I _am_ the Supreme of our…institution," Fiona said, taking a cigarette from her own bag and lighting it, taking her first drag slowly. "I'm capable of the same things."

"I am a wretched human being," the Supreme said, looking at the platinum-haired woman. "As for you, wretched is an understatement. You're ruthless…cruel…_wicked_…bold…_magnetic_…" She paused. "You're just like me, but warmed three times over."

"That makes two of us," Helen said with a sly smirk, her eyes burning—she seemed proud of her traits. "Yet one thing remains certain. You have _no_ idea, and _never_ will."

"Speaking of us, I want to propose something. I never offer something like this to anyone, but you seem to fit the bill perfectly," Fiona said. Helen opened her ears, fully listening to whatever the Supreme had to say.

"Name it," the woman replied, looking down with her arched eyebrows slightly raised in a relaxed manner.

"Be our replacement headmistress," Fiona said. "You will be paid well and it will last until Cordelia is back on her feet."

"But she's blind," Helen said, looking at Cordelia's sleeping, marred face. "Wouldn't that oust the fact that I'm only a _replacement_?"

"That has been my daughter's job for so long. I often think she's confused," Fiona said demeaningly. "She's weak. I'll admit, I've been a bad mother to her, but I've also tried being better to her." She leaned in toward Helen, looking into her eyes. "_You _seem to be in the same boat, and I'm not surprised. You call your daughter a 'dog' like she's the ugliest being on two legs. I gotta hand it to you for having guts, but that's just…"

"Well, she isn't as…_ravishing_ as me," the platinum-haired woman said as the Supreme trailed off in thought. "Men have done everything for me. In Eleonora's short life, they've done _nothing _for _her_. In a way, it is also her fault she can't function like a normal woman; women love dates, being showered with diamonds, being given the world." The woman chuckled and continued. "As for men, they're feeble, stupid, relentless…makes me sick, but I _love_ a good fuck."

"That don't surprise me, you know. You're a woman dressed in red, constantly on fire with the face of an angel. What else could a man ask for?" Fiona asked.

"Nothing more," Helen cackled; the Supreme joined in, looking at the platinum-haired beauty as her laugh faded—she was deeply curious to know more about Helen.

"Tell me," Fiona began. "Have you always been this evil? Was there ever a point in your life where you actually gave a shit?"

Helen thought for a moment, her face going blank as she ran her tongue gently over her bright red lips. She took a drag of her cigarette, looking down and blowing the smoke out as she thought deeply—her past was one for the history books had it been so important, but was it really worth sharing? Did Fiona have ulterior motives that involved blackmail?

"You don't want to hear it," Helen replied meanly. "Ah, I get it. You want to use it against me someday. Tell you what," she held her palm up and a ball of fire formed in her hand, "that isn't going to happen."

"The door is closed. Cordelia is not waking up. It's only you and me. No cameras...no journalists," Fiona said sarcastically. "If I wanted to use it against you, I would have by now without you even telling me a stitch of your past." Helen put out the fire in her hand with her mind and looked at her—she seemed a bit _too_ curious. She stood up from her chair and made her way toward the door, her cigarette between two fingers.

"I'm not saying _anything_. I don't know _why_ you care," Helen said, turning to look at the Supreme dressed in black. "So, lady. When is my first day?"

"Tomorrow."

**A/N:**

**OOH! A little suspense! I hope you guys like the story. Please leave feedback in the ****Review****section, or ****Follow****and ****Favorite****. **

**If you caught the "Ravish Me Red" reference, good for you! It turns out that Revlon actually sells a shade of red lipstick called Ravish Me Red! Phew, the things we find out.**

**Thank you all and happy reading! :D**


	11. Chapter 11

The morning after Cordelia's accident at the jazz club in the heart of the city, Eleonora woke up to a bunch of worried chatter, but strangely enough, the chatter was also full of wonder and curiosity. Still wearing her pajamas, she approached the dining table, where the others were having cereal and other kinds of breakfast foods; Nan looked back at her and sighed sadly.

"Cordelia got injured," she told the blonde; Eleonora gasped.

"What?"

"Last night," Queenie cut in. "Fiona came back here at about three in the morning. She's still asleep, actually."

"Oh," Eleonora said, holding her arms to her body timidly as though she were out in the cold—the morning sun's rays seemed to fade in the room as she showed signs of concern and sadness in her eyes; the verdant sparkle in them drew everyone's attention.

"Have some breakfast," Delphine insisted, a sinister look in her eyes. Eleonora was intimidated by her, but she still sat down and was given a bowl of strawberry oatmeal; she had not taken a bite, for she had heard an all too familiar sound in the atrium, approaching somewhere as yet unknown.

_Click-clack-click-clack-click-clack_…

It was high heels; definitely high heels. Long, tall, thin stilettos that had the sharpness of a knife's blade.

_Click-clack-click-clack…_

It continued, but it stopped; a voice suddenly filled the dining room; it was fiery, feminine, seductive, and alluring, yet seething and piercing.

"Hello ladies," it said. "My, what a fine bunch you are."

Eleonora looked back in shock—it was her mother, Helen, standing there dressed in black in all her sinister glory. The other girls definitely felt the same, but the freckled blonde gasped upon hearing her next sentence.

"I am the new headmistress," she continued. "Cordelia needs time to get back on her feet."

_She can't be serious_, her daughter thought to herself, her green eyes focused on the windows that led to a view of the outside world—it had begun to downpour at her discretion.

* * *

><p>Zoe had paid Kyle's mother a visit, assuring her that her son would return home soon when she expressed worry. However, she was in an awkward position—Misty was still healing his stitch wounds and it seemed like forever before she could finally see him again. Within two weeks, she finally took it upon herself to go to Misty's shack in the bayou with the intentions of visiting Kyle and possibly taking him home where he belonged. Upon being welcomed into the shack, Misty smiled at her before going to put the poultice jar away in her drawer.<p>

"How is he?" the girl asked, her honey brown eyes fixated on Kyle, whose eyes stared off lifelessly into space; however, there was a spark of life in their intense, dark brown color.

"He's been doin' much better," Misty answered, adjusting the shawl she was wearing over her shoulders. "Barely a scab on 'im."

"Is he alright to go home?" Zoe asked as she followed Misty to her stereo, where she turned up the volume and hummed along with the song, getting lost in the lyrics as she sang gently:

"_If I live to see the seven wonders  
>I'll make a path to the rainbow's end<br>I'll never live to match the beauty again  
>The rainbow's end<br>So it's hard to find  
>Someone with that kind of intensity<br>You touched my hand, I played it cool  
>And you reached out your hand to me<em>…"

"Uh…who sings this?" Zoe asked curiously, adjusting her long, straight light brown hair. Misty gasped and smiled.

"Stevie Nicks!" she said with excitement. "Fleetwood Mac? Ever hear of them?" The girl shook her head, and then looked over at Kyle, whose eyes stared up at her before crawling over like a baby to get a better look at her. Zoe leaned down and looked into his eyes, smiling slightly with parted lips.

"Kyle?" she began. "I've come to take you home to your mother."

"What?" Misty asked, shocked with her blue eyes widened.

"I visited her a little while ago," Zoe replied, extending her hands down to him so she could help him to his feet steadily. "She's worried."

"I don't think he should leave yet. At least, not for a few days," the woman with curling blonde hair. "Maybe come back then?"

"I promise I will come back with Kyle to visit," Zoe said kindly, putting Kyle's arm carefully around her shoulder as she helped him steady his walking.

"You promise?"

"Yes."

Misty was in tears as she watched Zoe make her way out with Kyle, who stumbled even with someone to help him walk steadily. Life by the bayou was lonely, as she knew all too well—ever since her resurgence and coming back to life, life had been nothing but miles of lonely road by the marshy water and cattails that poked out of it. Solitude was her best friend, but also the biggest struggle in her life. They had left; she felt a pang in her heart.

"She ain't comin' back," she wept to herself.

* * *

><p>"Mom, you <em>can't<em> be serious," Eleonora said, looking at her mother; Helen held a fuming cigarette between two graceful fingers as her hazel eyes burned up at her daughter. She was sitting in Cordelia's comfortable, plush fiber office chair at the desk, but Fiona had provided an ashtray for her as there wasn't one present in advance.

"Oh, I _am_ serious," Helen replied, her tone biting her daughter's heart like a rabid dog. "Fiona appointed me to this position. Besides, it's only temporary. I'm not living here, either. Consider yourself lucky."

"I mean, I'm happy you finally got a job, but…" Eleonora trailed off, trying to keep herself as collected as possible, "d-don't you think this…_school_ is a bit too…uh…what's the word?" She thought for a moment, "_challenging_ for you to handle?"

"I'm not a retard," Helen chided, taking a drag of nicotine. "Besides, maybe I could bring a lot to you girls here, being your new headmistress. Hell, I'm getting paid handsomely for it. Why not work a quality job with fine performance?" She put out her cigarette in the ashtray, crushing it before she checked the surfaces of her bright wine-colored nails. Eleonora sighed, looking at her platinum-haired, ageless mother; had she, so evil and cruel, been somehow involved with Cordelia's accident?

"What happened to Cordelia?" she asked her mother after a moment of silence and staring.

"Some asshole thought it was okay to pour sulphuric acid in her face and _blind_ her," the woman responded, looking down at her nails quickly. "I was there."

"_You_ did it?" Eleonora asked with horror. Helen jumped from her seat and made her way over to her daughter threateningly, her eyes burning with the prelude to a rage as her stilettos clicked against the floor.

"Do you _really_ think I'd be here right now if that were the case? I'd be arrested, you stupid bitch," she barked spitefully. "God, you make me sick!"

"Don't talk to me like that," Eleonora pleaded, a sad look wiped across her face.

"Then don't be so damn stupid!" Helen hissed.

"All I wanted to know was what happened to her. That's all," her daughter replied with some force in her voice.

"She's in the hospital. Sulfuric acid in her face," Helen replied slowly. "Pus slowing down the healing process. I killed whoever did it. They are nothing but ash. She's a wreck right now, and _I_'m here to do her job, so if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. I'll be damned if someone like _you_ ruins my day."

Helen slinked over to her desk, sitting down gracefully like a swan over shallow water; Eleonora took a deep breath, trying to fight the tears that had begun to form in the back of her eyes by shutting her verdant jewels closed. She looked over to her mother, who took out a stack of paperwork that belonged to Cordelia and began to look through them discreetly. It was silent; nothing but the raindrops falling on the windowpanes outside.

"Why didn't you use your healing?" Eleonora asked finally in a soft, almost quiet voice. "She would've been good as new, and you wouldn't be stuck here on a rainy day in an office." She walked closer, but kept her distance in case Helen flared up again. "You'd be at home in that cozy little apartment in the French Quarter, cuddling in a few blankets as you lie down and just forget the world…and your troubles…in general, whatever is bothering you." Helen ignored her daughter, who moved closer to try and seek an answer to her question—suddenly, a memory came to mind that was nostalgic, albeit grim.

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_Eleonora! I'm calling you!" Helen had called out after no response for close to an hour. "Don't you dare ignore me!"_

_The girl, fourteen at the time, was up in her bedroom penning a final note to the world which had been so cruel to her. Her words were concise and chilling; to-the-point with beautiful penmanship. Her own father had ostracized her besides leaving her mother; even her mother was aggressive and cruel enough to drive her this far; she had no friends in school. She was the outcast, not normal. Normality was all she ever wanted; she never wanted to have powers and end up like a clone of her sinister mother. If dying meant attaining true normality, then she would take this step. She took the bottle of sleeping pills and began to down three at a time, taking five handfuls accompanied with a swig of water each before laying back on her bed, closing her eyes as it began to thunder violently outside._

So peaceful_, she thought, _so peaceful. _She waited patiently for her heart and lungs to stop functioning._

(Eleonora shook her head, remembering when her attempt to take her life failed.)

_"__Wake up!" the woman demanded, shaking her unconscious daughter rapidly. Then she saw the bottle of pills three-fourths empty and gasped. She took it and looked at the label, reading the long, frightening scientific name of the drug as she prepared her haunted mind, and hands, with her healing powers._

_After placing them over her torso and projecting green energy into her daughter to undo the effects, young Eleonora opened her eyes and looked around, beginning to whimper and weep. Helen looked down in horror to see that her daughter had survived her own suicide—Eleonora's bright green eyes looked jaded and dead, but soon, she jumped up and ran for the bathroom, throwing up the substance she had hoped would kill her._

"You saved me that time," Eleonora recalled. "I…tried to…you know…"

"That wasn't the only time," Helen said. "I was hoping you would waste away with those stupid thoughts. Killing yourself wouldn't solve jack shit."

Another memory came to mind as Eleonora frowned, sighing sadly:

_"__Ow."_

_She dragged the razor down her wrist slowly, wincing at the seething pain that ripped through rivers of blue veins and fair skin—at sixteen, she tried again. Pills wouldn't work, so why not give this a try? Blood began to pour out gradually, and once she got to her other wrist, she was in agony, crying deeply as she felt her heart race at the same time. _I'm bleeding_, she had thought, _I know I'm alive_._

_Helen had come into the bathroom a half an hour later, opening the ajar door and gasping down at her daughter, her face in horror as she screamed bloody murder, collapsing on the blood puddle that had come from the bleeding wrist. Eleonora was unconscious, yet again, and Helen shook her head with disbelief. She did not cry, but instead put two fingers to her neck to feel for a pulse; it still went._

_She took each slit wrist and projected her healing energy into it; the green energy patched up her self-inflicted wounds up within minutes, and Helen had sent a surge of energy through Eleonora's body. Her eyes opened slowly; the green orbs saw nothing but blur and black until a clear vision of her mother's face came into view. Her hazel eyes looked down at her, resting her head in her voluptuous lap._

_"__Next time," she began coldly, "I hope you hang yourself. I can't heal collapsed lungs or a broken neck." That was the last time her mother had tried to heal anybody. _

Eleonora left the room, the distressing memories plaguing her mind as Helen continued to look through the pile of papers from Cordelia's stash.

* * *

><p>"Julie?"<p>

The twins lived upstairs in the apartment above the occult shop they worked in; it had still been raining heavily, and it was five minutes to midnight. Chase was clad in his pajamas, a pair of navy blue drawstring bottoms with a thermal New York Yankees t-shirt. He had been upstairs in bed when the sudden sound of enchanting, unearthly singing came to his ears—it was mid to low range and what he heard from the lyrics, it was not in English. He went to investigate, only to have the sound lead him to downstairs in the shop, which had been closed for hours; Julie had used a designated room in the back of the shop with a large curtain as a temple of sorts for her rituals. It was entirely separate from the space she had used to perform readings for clients.

Chase sighed, tiptoeing successfully toward the source of the entrancing singing. He wanted to go with his better judgment and not disturb her in case she was too deep into a ritual or trance, but his childlike curiosity got the best of him as he made his way toward the curtain, pulling it back to get a peek—in the center of a specially-drawn chalk circle stood his sister dressed in a special blue ceremonial costume reminiscent of a _völva_, a Norse seeress, with her ice blonde head veiled in the back. A dozen white candles were set around the vicinity, and sweet-smelling incense fumed and filled the air. She was clearly wearing no shoes, and Chase watched in fascination as she continued to sing—clearly, she was in a trance:

"_Kom til mín…  
>Heyrðu sál mína kalla<br>Stend i skuggunum ok bíð  
>Eftir þér<em>

_Komþú, taktu mik með  
>Rikið mitt bíðir<br>Ek þrái þinn líkama  
>Augu þín brosa….<em>"

Julie's low to mid-range voice was spellbinding, and furthermore, the trance had only intensified the experience for Chase, who had only rarely heard or seen his sister in an incoherent trance state. When the singing stopped, he gasped slinking back in fear before he witnessed his sister collapse to the floor unconscious—she hadn't stirred.

**A/N:**

**Thank you all for your reviews, follows and favorites on my writing! It means a lot and I appreciate every one of you guys!**

**A little note for you: in her trance, Julie sings an Old Norse song called ****_Huldradans_****. A translation is actually available online if you are curious.**

**Please leave ****Reviews****telling what you think so far! Thanks guys!**


	12. Chapter 12

"I had a vision."

The twins ate breakfast together the next morning; the night before, Chase had sprinted into Julie's sacred space to check and see if she was alright after witnessing her collapse and faint. He crouched to his knees and took her lifeless body into his grasp, taking off her translucent, cream-colored veil as he peered down at her beautiful face. He leaned down to kiss her forehead, his ungloved, malformed hand pulling her ice blonde hair away from her face—within minutes, her eyes opened with tears coming down from the corners. Chase sipped his orange juice and looked over at his sister, whose faint expression stared off into space.

"What did you see?" he asked. Julie turned her soulful gray gaze to her brother, and held her toast by its crust, running her finger along the crisp, smooth edge.

"The Norns," she began. "They told me that there is a danger among us." She took a bite of her toast, and Chase gasped as he felt himself tremble with worry.

"Uh…what?"

"They seemed unclear," she said as if in a daze as soon as she swallowed, "but they said danger is indeed among us."

"I'm scared," Chase replied nervously. "C-Can you make them go away?"

"The Norns?" Julie sounded shocked.

"No, I mean…you know, the bad?" her brother asked, his eyes sparkling timidly. Julie sighed, holding her drink and concentrating on the fluid inside so it froze solid—it was ice cold to the touch after it solidified in the glass. She thought for a moment, remembering it was their day off—the shop was always closed on Sundays. She looked at her brother with determination, nodding slightly.

"I can perform a protection ritual," she replied.

"Can I be with you in the circle?" Chase asked, his eyes filled with hope. Julie sighed; she performed a huge majority of her rituals by herself. Then again, Chase was being protected as well, and she planned to extend her protection to their new friends Eleonora and Misty—what was the point of casting the spell alone?

"Alright, Chase," she giggled. "After breakfast."

* * *

><p>Later that day, Zoe heard the telephone ringing. She approached it without hesitation and picked it up from the receiver, putting it to her ear and greeting the other end.<p>

"Hello?" she asked.

"Hey, is this Zoe Benson?" the voice, a female, asked.

"Yes, who is this?"

"This is Alicia, Kyle's mom," the woman replied.

"Hello. Is everything alright, Mrs. Spencer?" Zoe asked; the thought of Kyle crossed her mind. How had he been doing since last seeing him?

"Oh, everythin' is dandy, but…" Mrs. Spencer trailed off. "Kyle…he…well, how do I put this? He's outta sorts."

"Yeah?" A fearful chill ran down the girl's spine as she held the phone to her ear.

"I noticed a change in 'im," she continued. "He ain't talkin', just gruntin'. He moves slower than usual and…well…even _physically_ he's different."

"Oh…" Zoe responded, turning her head to see Madison standing there against the beam of the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest; her soft light brown eyes were curious, and Zoe sighed softly as the woman continued on the other end of the line.

"I 'member when I first got news of Kyle dyin', well, he almost did. I almost killed myself. Just seein' you bring 'im on here changed my mind. Y'know, ever since 'is father left us, there's been a hole in my heart. I just can't replace it."

"Oh…" Zoe was speechless, and had a strange look in her expressive honey brown eyes. "Well…I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Spencer."

"Say, I wanna thank you for bringin' 'im back to me," Mrs. Spencer continued. "I wanna invite you to dinner tomorrow night."

"Oh…uh…really?" Zoe asked.

"Yes."

"Well, that sounds…_nice_," the girl said. "Well, I have to go now. Bye."

Upon hanging up the phone, Zoe looked back and turned, getting a better look at Madison's curiosity. He stood up straight and adjusted her pitch black top and approached Zoe; her honey brown eyes looked worried as she sighed. Her hand rested on the table, and Madison looked at her steadily.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"Kyle's mother," Zoe said.

"What did she want?"

"She told me that she wanted to thank me for bringing him back to her. She invited me to dinner tomorrow night," Zoe said, smiling sadly.

"That's a good thing, though," Madison said with a sly smile. "You should go. I'll let you borrow one of my dresses."

"That's nice of you, but I have something to wear already," Zoe smiled. "I'm not going to 'dress up'."

"Well, then," Madison sneered.

* * *

><p>"Cordelia?" Fiona called softly, coming into her daughter's hospital room with white lilies in a glass vase.<p>

"Who's there?" she asked.

When the Supreme came up to her hospital bed, she got a much closer look at the grotesque, pus-covered visage that had overcome her daughter's face. She gasped, putting her hands over her mouth to see that Cordelia's eyes went from a warm brown to a ghostly white—her pupils were not present, and her irises had been burned away from the sulphuric acid. Her upper and lower eyelids were bright red and looked as though someone had poured boiling hot water or lava on her skin; it was rippled like a burn scar. Her daughter groaned in pain, feeling agony as tears developed in her eyes.

"Shh," Fiona said, trying to make her stop crying.

"Where is Mrs. Mortenson?" Cordelia cried out. "She was the only one there!"

"She's all taken care of. She is the replacement headmistress until you are back on your feet," her mother said. "I hired her."

"What?"

"Yes. I know what happened because she told me," Fiona answered, a slight smile in her lips.

"It was a robed figure. I didn't get a good look at them," Cordelia wept, putting her hands up close to her face without touching her injured eyes. "Before I knew it…they…" She sobbed heavily, whining as tears painfully formed in her eyes.

"Helen said the same thing. She told me she burned them alive," Fiona added. Her daughter's unwavering blind eyes stared into space, seeing absolutely nothing.

"I…I knew I smelt something burning," she cried. "She was there. I heard yelling over my own screams as well."

"Do you remember what was said?"

"No, not really," Cordelia said as a painful tear was shed. "I wish I could remember. Mrs. Mortenson was there and she—"

"Saved you," Fiona cut in, finishing her sentence. "I am grateful to her, and you should be as well. If she weren't there, god only knows what could've happened. You'd probably be in worse shape than you are now."

"So you gave her my job?" Cordelia asked.

"Temporarily, yes," Fiona answered. "Helen is everything we need and perfect for the job as your replacement. Think of it as her being a substitute teacher. She won't be there for long, and_you_ won't have the stress on your shoulders. You can recover."

"But what about the girls?" Cordelia asked. "She doesn't know them."

"Eleonora is her daughter," her mother replied, putting her hand over Cordelia's and holding it. "I'm shocked at how that girl has adapted to living with us."

"S-She denied having powers and being normal," Cordelia said, recalling the storm Eleonora created in the dining room a few weeks before. "But since then, she's made friends with the other girls. She's very shy, though, still."

"We will need to crack her shell open more for her to become fully part of our clan," Fiona said with a hopeful smile. Cordelia took a sigh, moving her head to the side as she took a moment to remember the first morning gathering with Eleonora being included.

"She is not a Salem descendent," she confessed. Fiona looked shocked, and gasped, but listened as her daughter continued. "She shared with us that she is Swedish-American. There is no way she can be a Salem descendant."

"Huh? I don't understand," Fiona said, crossing a leg over the other as she sat in the chair next to her daughter's hospital bed.

"Exactly what I said," Cordelia replied. "Both of her parents, according to her, are half Swedish."

"I read once that Sweden had a few major witch trials in its history," Fiona recalled, getting up and walking toward the window, looking out at the view of the city. "I remember Torsåker and Mora being mentioned in the book I read. It wasn't just Salem that was famous. In fact, our kind is always being attacked. It doesn't matter where her bloodline originates. We need to teach them how to fight," Fiona paused and looked back at her blind daughter, "because when witches don't fight, we burn."

* * *

><p>Alicia Spencer had prepared stuffed chicken, broccoli, and brown gravy; she waiting for Zoe's arrival the following night, and upon telling Kyle she had invited her, his undead eyes seemed to light up at the thought. His memory was terrible, but Zoe's peaceful facial features, honey brown eyes, and long, straight brown hair stuck in his mind like fresh gum. He let out an inaudible grunt and smiled, but it slowly faded as Alicia made her way over toward him from her position in his doorway; she had straggly, unkempt brown hair and seemingly colorless blue eyes.<p>

"I missed you when you were gone," she said. "I hope you ain't developin' feelings for that girl." Kyle grunted in response, still unable to speak.

"What's the matter?" she asked, strangely seductive. "We had some fun times together. Now, you don't wanna pay any attention to me." Another grunt came from Kyle, and once his mother leaned down to kiss his lips, he shoved her away, grunting angrily.

"Grr," he groaned.

"What's wrong with you? I've missed you, and I need some love," Alicia responded, reaching down to undo her son's pants. "You're actin' like you ain't never done it before! Stop it!"

"NOO!"

Kyle's first word since being revived was in a fit of intense rage. Alicia began to run as she saw her son pick up a heavy trophy from his shelf, earned during his high school career in football, and he screamed barbarically as he sprinted down the hall. Once he caught up to Alicia, who tried to escape to the bathroom, he hit her once on the back of the head to knock her out before straddling her unconscious body and slamming the heavy object into her head.

_BANG!_

_CRUNCH!_

_SLAM!_

_CRUNCH!_

_GUSH!_

Brain matter began to ooze from the large, open fracture. Blood splattered all over the bathtub and made a generous pool on the clean, white tiles of the bathroom floor. Even Kyle himself was covered in blood and brain fragments, looking down to see that he had smashed in her face as well, breaking her nose, her eye sockets—she was too disfigured to distinguish anymore. Kyle, for one, felt no emotions; his heart didn't even race as Zoe arrived to his house and saw him bumping his head repeatedly against the edge of the tub. She gasped in fear upon seeing the body—tears falling down as she screamed bloody murder.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

**A/N:**

**Kind of a short chapter, I know; but hey, short and sweet is the way to go, right?**

**Thanks to everyone who left Reviews, and Followed/Liked this story!**

**Please continue leaving feedback and favorite!**

**Thanks! :D**


	13. Chapter 13

Eleonora and Madison gasped upon seeing Zoe arrive at the academy with Kyle, who was covered in blood, droplets scattered on his skin and soaking his clothing. The girl was clearly horrified as she helped him steady himself, walking into the door. To make things worse, Helen was just leaving for her apartment in the French Quarter for the night when she gasped at Zoe and Kyle coming in; she posed suggestively, a spiteful look in her fiery eyes—Eleonora had her hands over her mouth, and Madison's jaw had dropped.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in!" Helen scolded. "I hope no police thought you were suspicious!"

"Mrs. Mortenson, do you mind?" Zoe retorted. "He just had some trouble!"

"Trouble?" Eleonora asked. "What happened? He's covered in—"

"H-He got attacked," Zoe replied nervously, fibbing to prevent Helen from knowing the truth. The platinum-haired woman lit a cigarette and glared at the girl rudely.

"Oh_please_," she sneered. "If you're going to lie, be good at it!" She took a puff, and Zoe looked at her with aggravation; Kyle grunted and flailed an arm out mindlessly.

"I'm not lying! I swear!" she replied forcefully. "He was attacked in his home. I was invited by his mother to dinner, and the minute I walk in the door, I see blood all over the place. Kyle and his mother were attacked!"

"And you didn't _think_ to call the police, dumbass?" Helen sneered, approaching her as she blew smoke laced with nicotine in her face. Zoe was getting angry, but Madison finally stepped in and said something.

"Look, you scraggly old—"

"Think before you speak!" Helen spat. "The next word out of your mouths, you'll all be hunks of burning nothing." She looked down at Madison as if she were scum on the bottom of her shoes. "You are_nothing_. You have _no idea_, especially since you walk around like the best thing since sliced bread."

"How?" Eleonora asked, her tone unusually forceful. "This doesn't concern—"

"You brought him back to life didn't you?" the woman asked, her tone calculating and piercingly analytical.

"Uh…_she_ did it," Madison fibbed, pointing her finger at Eleonora, whose jaw dropped in shock.

"_You_ did it, too!" Eleonora barked.

"I took a part in it," Zoe confessed. "It was Madison's idea, though."

"_Bitch_!" the starlet hissed, approaching Madison as if to charge her and begin beating her up. Before this could happen, Helen felt her venomous rage boil inside, and with a single thought, she levitated the three girls apart from each other; Eleonora was in shock, and felt her body tremble in fear as she turned her head to the sides to see Zoe and Madison looking down at Helen wide-eyed.

"STOP IT!" she shouted. "You all fight like a bunch of imbeciles! Shut the fuck up!"

"P-Put us down…p-please?" Zoe pleaded, her voice cracking. In the meantime, Kyle frowned and began to grunt sadly, his mood escalating to anger and frustration. Helen looked back at the undead being and smiled cordially before looking up at the three girls she had suspended in midair.

"Fine."

She stopped concentrating, and the girls abruptly fell on the floor like limp ragdolls; the floor was stone, so it really hurt them all when they fell. Zoe fell right on her tailbone, Eleonora fell on her hip, and Madison fell on her feet with the impact shooting up her lower legs before falling to hit her head. They slowly tried to get up, hands rubbing the afflicted parts of their bodies—Helen's hazel eyes burned down at them, but then looked at Kyle, whose face was expressionless with his intense, dark eyes showing disdain and resentment.

"I won't tell anyone," the woman chided slowly, her tone piercing before taking another drag of her cigarette, "but the next time you little bitches act like animals, I _will_ make sure you are punished."

Helen slinked gracefully out of the atrium and toward the front door of the manor, leaving Zoe, Eleonora, and Madison in pain from the hits they took against the stone floor. The starlet felt the side of her head, groaning as she shook her head, getting back on her feet before the other girls; Eleonora and Zoe rose in a gradual succession.

"I hate her so much," the starlet said. "She's such a bitch." She glanced over at Eleonora, who whined in pain from her hip hurting. "How can you stand her?"

"It could be worse, trust me," the freckled blonde replied.

"What do you mean?" Zoe asked.

"Let's just…" Eleonora sighed, "go upstairs with him, alright?"

* * *

><p>"We need to keep him here," Zoe said, sitting on the white carpet of her room with Kyle and the other two witches.<p>

The undead creature kept rocking back and forth, looking downward as his messy, blond curls fell down his face sloppily. He was ordered to take a shower by the trio and he was given new clothes which consisted of black jeans, and a dark blue-white plaid button-up fleece shirt. His shoes were cleaned off and put back on him after being given a fresh pair of socks. Eleonora looked at Zoe, sitting with them, her green eyes curious.

"What happened at the house?" she asked quietly before looking over to check the time—it was fifteen minutes before eight.

"I don't know," Zoe replied nervously. She looked at Kyle make sure he was still distracted before leaning into the two girls and speaking soft enough to be considered a whisper. "I think he killed his mother."

"Really?" Madison asked.

"Yeah. He was covered in blood. I-I saw the mother…she was horribly beaten. Her head was open and bleeding. Brains were everywhere," Zoe grimaced, gagging slightly at the thought. "Then I look to see Kyle…h-he was hitting his head against the bathtub…there was a trophy in his hand." She whispered lower. "I think he beat her to death."

"Oh my god," Eleonora replied with shock, a tear forming in her eye as she looked at Kyle sympathetically. _What have I done_, she asked herself, _we created a monster_.

"He's staying with us," Madison replied. "No question about it. Did you call the cops?"

"No."

"_Why_?!" Eleonora asked, under pressure from the stress and worry. "What if people get suspicious?"

"They won't," Zoe replied.

"How can you be so sure? You almost got us in trouble last time with the cops when Madison—"

"Shut up!" Madison hissed. "They wouldn't believe her anyway."

"It looks like an intruder who just happened to attack them both," Zoe said, looking at Kyle and pointing to him. "See his neck where we stitched it?"

"Yeah?"

"Looks like a throat cut," Eleonora concluded. She sighed worriedly. "I hope we don't get caught."

"Mommy Dearest caught us, for sure," Madison sneered, looking at Eleonora.

"We couldn't control that. We had no idea these two were coming in," the freckled blonde replied, her eyes gleaming with fright as she shook her head. "I really wish she never was employed here. She's…ugh…so destructive…and…vindictive."

"How do you stand her?" Madison asked.

"Because I'm used to it," Eleonora responded after a moment of silence.

She looked down at her legs, crossed Indian style, and in a swift move she gathered up all her light blonde hair and shifted it to the side—the back of her neck was mostly scar tissue that tried to heal itself over the years. It definitely resembled a burn, and in one part, it looked like some skin was about to melt off but cemented to her during the healing process. Zoe gasped upon seeing the scar, putting a hand over her mouth as Madison's soft brown eyes looked in horror. Eleonora had not intended for them to see the scar, but they still did.

_Horrid_, the other two girls thought.

* * *

><p>"Sir? How much is it if I buy these two books together?"<p>

Chase was behind the counter, sitting and reading the daily newspaper carefully when the man called him over; however, he did not go over right then and there. He felt a bit anxious—he was terrible at math, even the simplest addition problems flustering him into a frustrated frenzy. He fixed his dark blond hair, ruffling it as he stood up and folded the newspaper in such a way that his place was not left.

"Hello?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Chase responded, sprinting toward the short, older man with thinning hair and a receding hairline. His gray eyes looked down at him, as he was only an inch shorter, and he smiled in a friendly manner like usual.

"Need any help, sir?" he asked, the tone in his voice cheerful.

"Yes, I called y'over here for a reason," the man retorted. "How much 're these two books together?"

Chase held out one of his gloved hands and took one of the books, entitled _Ars Vercanus: Advanced Magickal Techniques_, and looked down at a bright, fluorescent green tag that had the number nine on it accompanied with a dollar sign. He then took a long, hard glance at the other book, entitled _Mastering Witchcraft_, which had a tag with the same color but the only difference being having a ten. Meanwhile, a woman Julie was reading for walked out of the reading area, but Julie remained in there to burn a smudge stick for purification. The man, however, was growing impatient with Chase, rolling his eyes—yet he was only trying to figure out what the total would be. He was terrible at math.

"I'm in a rush, young man," the customer sneered. "Pick up the pace!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying." Chase sounded very much like a child.

"You're stupid!" the customer replied. "Get me the manager."

"No, I'm not!" Chase cried, frowning sadly—he was very emotionally sensitive. Meanwhile, the man finally saw the two neon green labels on the books, seeing a nine and a ten.

"Prove it. What's nine plus ten?"

"Uh…" Chase took a moment to think. "T-Twenty-one?"

"There's_no_ way you work here. You're dumber than a doornail!" the man shouted; Chase began to feel hurt by his cruel words, and he shook his head with tears in his eyes before a familiar, powerful voice radiated through the store.

"Who do you think you're speaking to?"

Julie, who had just come out of the reading space, pulled back the curtain and looked at the customer with Chase intensely with disappointment and resentment. She never found it in her heart to hate anyone, but when it came to her brother, she never tolerated people being rude to him or dehumanizing him due to his intellectual and physical shortcomings. She approached them, her gaze focused on the man, whose eyes were concentrated on her striking beauty.

"Oh…uh…hello," he said nervously. "Are you the manager?"

"To an extent," Julie replied, keeping her external cool. "What's the matter?"

"Does this man work here?" the customer asked, leaning in closer to speak quietly as Chase backed away. "He should be_fired_. No one is that stupid."

"Excuse me, sir, but that's my _brother_!" Julie said forcefully, looking into the man's small eyes through his thick glasses. "Don't you _dare_ call him that."

"No one gets nine plus ten wrong!" the customer retorted. "Was he dropped on his head too much as a baby?"

"You're crossing the line, sir," the woman told him. "I will have to make you leave in a minute." By this point, Chase had walked into the reading area rapidly, plopping down in his sister's chair and burying his face in his mittened hands.

"I'm serious, though. No one is _that_ dumb! I swear to god, he must be full of air. Not even a brain, but just full of—"

"Get out!" Julie snapped. "You're never welcome in here again!"

She charged at the man in such a way that wasn't threatening, but was strong enough to get the message across that she meant business. The customer threw the two books on the ground, gazing up at the tall, ice-blonde woman before flinging open the entrance door and fleeing the establishment. Julie took a sigh to relax herself, closing her eyes before leaning down to take the book titles and put them back in their respective shelf before hearing the sound of Chase crying in her reading room. She slowly walked over, opening the curtain to sweet-smelling, earthy sage and the image of him hunched over with his mittened hands covering his face. Her booted feet made their way over to her brother, and Julie crouched down and looked up at Chase's gray mittens.

"Don't listen to him," she said, trying to lull him to silence. "He was being very mean."

"P-People a-are so mean to me," the man sobbed. "He called me stupid."

"You're not stupid, Chase," she replied. "You're _special_."

"What's so special about me? I can't even tie my own shoes," Chase whined, taking his gloved hands away from his face. "I'm ugly."

"You're not ugly, Chase," Julie said. "You're my brother. You're_very_ special to me. Don't let someone hurt your feels because they're insecure about their own."

Suddenly, the sound of rain pouring against the windowpanes of the front of the shop took up the vicinity. Julie walked toward the curtain and peered out; much to her surprise, Eleonora stood there with her hair wet and mangled and a fearful expression on her face.

"Hello, what a surprise," Julie said, approaching her.

"What's going on?" the girl asked.

"Nothing much. Slow business," the woman said, fluffing her ice-white hair. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Well, I need help," Eleonora said pleadingly. "It's not easy to ask, but…"

"What is it?" Julie was curious, her soulful gray eyes delving into her green ones. Eleonora looked up at her and sighed.

"It's a long story, but I'll cut it short," the freckled blonde said, looking down as her light blonde hair dripped water. "My friends and I brought someone back from the dead. He is very unstable. He can't talk, he can't move correctly..." She paused, sounding uncertain and fearful. "C-Could you help us?"

Julie gasped, looking down at Eleonora—her visions were confirmed. She had indeed raised that man in Misty's shack from the dead. The ice-blonde woman looked away and abruptly took the girl's hand in hers, looking down into her eyes with determination. _She is my friend_, Julie thought as Eleonora's green eyes sparkled up at her, _she needs my help._


	14. Chapter 14

"Kyle Spencer," Julie said, relying on her razor sharp intuition and psychic abilities to get answers to things Eleonora was not telling her. The freckled girl with light blonde hair was amazed at how correct she was even without saying anything, and her bright green eyes stared up at her as she sat with her back erect in the reading room. Chase was still in there, but he remained quiet with his face still red from crying—Eleonora had been concerned, but found it best to mind her own business.

"How did you know?" the girl asked.

"Two reasons. One, he was in Misty's shack near the marsh. Two, when we were visiting one day, we saw him there. I approached him, and I didn't know why he was there at first but I figured out that he was raised from the dead," Julie explained. "I felt his hand, and saw everything. I saw you and…another two girls who performed the spell." Eleonora was in shock, trying to process her visions in her own mind before giving her input; she sounded timid per usual.

"I-I performed it with…Zoe and Madison," she added softly, looking back up at her. "I…well, I mean, _Madison_ talked me into breaking into the morgue with them. Apparently…you know, she thought she was doing Zoe a favor."

"Favor?" Julie asked, listening vigilantly.

"Yeah," Eleonora said, wishing not to go further. There was an awkward silence, and Chase glanced over at them, pulling his chair closer and leaning in with his gray eyes inquisitive and childlike. Julie gave him a brief look, and proceeded to understand more of the situation.

"I have a question," she began. "How did Kyle die?" Eleonora got nervous, looking at the twins with identical gray eyes.

"Bus crash," the girl answered.

"I read in the paper," Chase interjected, beginning his part of dialogue, "that there was an accident."

"The Greek house Kappa Lambda Gamma?" Julie questioned. Eleonora grew nervous, sighing as she exhaled from a deep breath.

"Yeah," she answered quietly.

"Some_one_, not something, caused that crash," the striking woman with ice blonde hair replied. "One of you three girls. I can see it now."

Suddenly, Eleonora's mind snapped—she burst from her seat and held the sides of her head, shaking it as tears formed in her eyes. She was guilty by association just being with the two girls the night Madison tipped over the moving bus as retribution for the frat boys violating her. She had not been involved in the accident in any way except for being present as a witness. The guilt was overwhelming, and she tossed her hands down to her sides.

"Stop it!" she rejoined. "Get out of my head!" Seeing the girl in distress, Julie stood up and walked slowly to her, the white petticoat-style skirt flowing around her black booted ankles as she raised her hands toward the freckled blonde with concern.

"I'm not in your head, Eleonora," she replied calmly, trying to reassure her positively.

"You're lying! Stop it! How else would you know?" the girl retorted tearfully.

"Julie, you're scaring her," Chase interrupted, approaching the girl and putting one of his gloved hands on the girl's shoulder.

"I'm not trying to, I swear. Please, Eleonora, don't be afraid," Julie said, frowning as the girl panicked. It all seemed to culminate within the girl, a raging storm inside as the weather outside changed in sync with her distress.

_KA-CRASH!_

"Ah!" Chase exclaimed fearfully—it had begun to thunder. Eleonora was directed back to her chair by Julie, who crouched in front of her to try and calm her down, patting the side of her upper arm and trying to gently pry her hands away from her face. The rain outside had gotten heavier by the second, and when Eleonora finally took her hands away from her crying face.

"Do you even realize how hard my life is?!" she shouted, tears flowing down her cheeks. Chase frowned, sympathizing with the girl as Julie held the girl's wrists to try and calm her down, looking down with her soulful gray eyes.

"I never wanted my powers…" The girl continued to cry until it escalated to sobbing. "I wanted to become a writer…go to school in Tallahassee…major in English and literature…I never wanted to be here…"

"Eleonora?" Chase asked.

"You should_never_ be ashamed with what you were born with," Julie said sadly, biting her lower lip as a solemn expression rested on her face. "Chase and I were born with powers, as well. You should embrace it, don't you understand?"

"I can't!" Eleonora cried. "I don't want to hurt any more people!" She paused for a few sobs, taking a step back from Julie and her brother. "When we resurrected Kyle, I didn't even want to go with them to the morgue." Another sob. "I still did. They made me do the bulk of the work because I have t-the…power of bringing the dead back to life. I-I was born with it. The minute we see Kyle come back to life, he…he killed the worker at the morgue when he came in!" She whined as tears fell down her face. "K-Knowing that I was responsible for…his death—"

"It wasn't your fault, Eleonora," Julie said, looking at her.

"Yes, it was!" The girl lowered her voice, looking up at her with teary, bloodshot green eyes. "Kyle bludgeoned his mother to death, for crying out loud…"

"No, it wasn't. Want to know why?" the woman replied. "Because you have a pure heart. Also, you must understand that whatever magick you do, its effects are beyond your control. Sure, it may cause a chain reaction that's unbelievably traumatizing but at the same time, you also need to think things through."

"I _couldn't_, miss," Eleonora said. "Madison badgered me for an hour just to get me to go. The last time I used my powers to revive someone was when my mother tried to…" She silenced herself, preventing herself from speaking further as she tried to breathe.

"Take a breath, close your eyes…" Julie's tone of voice was convincing enough to make her open up. "Tell us what happened. It will be in total confidence. We won't tell anyone."

"No, Eleonora, we won't say anything," Chase repeated. "It'll be our secret."

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_Helen, what you did was wrong," Nicholas, Eleonora's father, had said. "In fact, I want you out of my house. Pack up your things." His then-wife, dressed in a revealing black dress, sat in the dining room and looked up at him, cackling sinisterly with disbelief as she took a drag of her cigarette. She uncrossed her legs as she tapped the ash off the tip of the cigarette before taking it back to her painted lips for another drag._

_"__You and one army, buster. I'm not leaving," Helen chided nonchalantly._

_"__How could you do this? After all these years of being married, you whore around like it's nothing!" her said, expressing disdain for his then-wife. _

_"__I can't help that you're a lousy lay who can't keep it up at night anymore, and apparently you can't do anything about it either," Helen snorted. "Plus, they were bigger than you."_

_"_They_?" Nicholas sounded shocked._

_"__Oh, I didn't tell you?"_

_"__No! What the hell!"_

_"__Well, yeah. There you have it," Helen said, taking another drag before blowing out the nicotine that burned her lungs._

_"__I can't believe you," Nicholas said, his heart shattering in a million pieces. _

_"__Then don't."_

_"__You're not making this easy. In fact, this is non-negotiable. You_ are_leaving!" Nicholas shouted, pointing toward the dining room archway that led out to the main hallway. "Eleonora is staying with me, too. She is _not_going to end up like you."_

_"__She won't, anyways," Helen hissed. "She's a _fucking_dog! What's the difference?!"_

_"__How could you treat your own daughter like that?!" Nicholas barked. "Ruining her self-esteem, for god's sake. She's only twelve!" He paused for a moment, watching Helen put out her cigarette in the crystal ashtray. "I-I saw that big burn scar on the back of her neck, you know."_

_Helen's hazel eyes were flaming with rage—when Eleonora was about five, she had witnessed the girl use her resurrection powers to revive their dead cat; soon after, she had grabbed the back of her neck so much that her pyrokinesis activated and left a huge scar on the back of the girl's neck. She made no attempt to heal it, but the doctor had told her to put cold compresses on the burn. Eleonora was a reasonably intelligent child, so she did what was asked without her mother to help. Helen directed her eyes up to her husband, standing up as her black, pointed stilettos smacked the floor roughly. _

_"__Shut up, you!" she ordered harshly._

_"__I'll use that as evidence in court. Abusing your child, that's not going to make her stay with _you_, that's for sure. The judge will be in my favor," Nicholas answered, beginning to walk away. In a fiery rage, Helen beamed at her then-husband, concentrating on his legs—the man shrieked in agony as he collapse on the wooden floor, and glance down at himself to see that his lower leg had snapped in half._

_"__AHHH! MY LEG!" he screamed. "IT'S BROKEN! YOU BITCH!"_

_Eleonora, who had been overhearing their fight from the living room, sprinted to the doorway of the dining room to see her mother walk over to Nicholas' weakened form laying on the floor, gracefully lifting one of her stiletto-heeled feet and caressing his back with the ball of it before forcefully jabbing the spiked heel into his back, being generous with the amount of pressure._

_"__AHHH! OWWW!" _

_"__You're a weak son-of-a-bitch, Nick," Helen chided, a cheerful smile on her face—Eleonora had gasped in horror at the sight. "Are you really a _real_man at the mercy of his wife like this?" _

_She kicked him so hard that he struggled to lie on his back, looking up at his wife fearfully as she leaned down with a look on her face as though nothing was wrong with what she had done to him. He groaned, tears of agony flowing down his face as Helen proceeded to place a hand right over his heart, concentrating as she looked down at him sinisterly. Nicholas began to suck wind, desperately gasping for air as her power worked itself on his form. He lifted his head slightly off the ground to try and get his wife to stop, but he felt his heartbeat accelerate beyond belief before widening his blue eyes and falling back, struggling for his last breaths as he died right then and there. Helen smiled, her eyes fiery with pride._

_"__Let's see you in court _now_," Helen sneered at the corpse, standing up and slinking out of the room to the bedroom._

_Eleonora had witnessed the entire incident firsthand—she was crying heavily and in distress, but managed to calm herself down before running to the body of her father, the bones of his tibia and fibula sticking out of his skin underneath his bloodied khakis and his skin a lifeless pallor, shrinking down to him and panicking. She tried to not be so frantic, but she did _not _want her father to die. She loved him too much. She placed a hand over his heart and another on the top of his head to drive her resurgent powers into the corpse. She focused deeply until she felt a beating heart once again beneath his rib cage, and his eyes opened as he jerked up, struggling to breathe as Eleanora watched her powers come to fruition. Nicholas' eyes looked around once again, and upon seeing his daughter, he grunted, which soon turned to speech._

_"__Get me to the hospital, now!" he shouted. "And leave me there!"_

* * *

><p>"He never wanted to see me again," Eleonora continued, a depressed tear running down her face; by this point, both Julie and Chase were sitting with her in the reading room, and luckily no customers had come in for the time being.<p>

"That's terrible," Julie said, a weary whisper; in truth, she was sympathizing with the girl.

"He…he ostracized me," Eleonora added, "yet I was the one who had given him life. My mother took it using _her_ power, and I give it back using _mine_." She took a breath. "I guess it was too much for him to handle mentally, knowing I would potentially end up becoming my mother."

"Did he go to the doctors?" Chase asked; he took in every word she said and frowned the entire time.

"Yes, I called the ambulance," the freckled blonde said. "My mother was mad at me, but she didn't hurt me. I find that strange even to this day. For a moment, I thought she was really going to hurt me somehow."

"How did she get custody of you?" Julie asked, furrowing her eyebrows inward slightly.

"My father gave up custody," Eleonora said. "He didn't want me. So I was stuck with my mother." She ended the talk and got straight to the point, realizing she went way off track. "Anyways, I don't want to bore you. Kyle needs help. He needs to be able to speak and function like a person again. I didn't come to be interrogated, I came for help. Are you willing to lend your hand to us?"

"Yes," Julie said without hesitation. "I will help."

"We'll keep it a secret, Eleonora," Chase answered.

"I follow my own mystical path, but I will drop by and visit sometime this week. Does that sound alright?" the woman asked." Eleonora nodded despite the fact that her mother now had a job at the academy.

"Yes. It's perfect," she said. "Thank you so much."

* * *

><p>Fiona had been repeatedly visiting her injured daughter in the hospital, and with each trip, Cordelia seemed to be showing signs of improvement—yet she would never fully regain her sight. Helen even came along one a few occasions, which relieved Eleonora and the rest of the girls. During one visit, the woman claimed to have been getting visions of various coven members. She even got a vision of the existence of Kyle being kept in Zoe's room, but to spare the girls, she did not tell her mother.<p>

Meanwhile, Fiona sought to fulfill her endeavor of eternal youth by visiting a plastic surgeon with the hopes of getting information about a face lift. After watching an hour-long program about several procedures, Fiona had to schedule an appointment with her primary care physician to check to see if she was healthy enough for such a procedure. To distract herself, she thought of Helen, who, at forty-six, looked like a young woman fresh out of college—her platinum blonde hair was free of grays, her fair, white skin was free of blemishes, pock marks or wrinkles, and her body was a buxom hourglass featuring large, full breasts, a wasp waist and generous, curvy hips. Fiona admired her, and was even envious of her youthful appearance—what was her secret? Apparently, there was none, according to her; just good genetics.

"Mrs. Goode," the doctor said, coming in with a file as he saw Fiona sitting on the examination table. "We have the results of your bloodwork."

"Yes? Am I healthy?" Fiona asked.

"As a matter of fact, no," the doctor replied. The woman looked at him worriedly, her hazel-brown eyes looking at him as he opened the file folder and looked down at the results.

"What's the matter?"

"You have cancer, ma'am," the doctor said.

She was shocked—_this cannot be_, she thought as she looked down, feeling every nerve in her body wrack up a storm. Fiona's lips pursed into a subtle frown, looking down in deep thought. _This is the end_, she thought, _someone else will take over as Supreme, but who?_

* * *

><p>"So who this…Marie Laveau character, anyway?"<p>

Helen had invited Delphine to come out for fresh air while Fiona was away, and they were sitting on the lawn chairs in the spacious backyard on the back veranda. Delphine kept looking at the woman with platinum hair as she dragged slowly on her cigarette, relaxing from the stress of her new job—taking care of a bunch of girls besides her daughter had been quite a chore indeed. She, herself, was still dressed in her maid outfit, while Helen opted for looser-than-usual black wrap dress with three quarter sleeves and a pair of classic black stilettos—her heaving bosom was spilling over the top of the neckline.

"How can ya stand wearin' that?" Delphine asked, looking at her strangely. "You look like a_putaine_."

"Nice try. I know what you mean," Helen chided, blowing out smoke. "I took French in high school."

"High school? You mean, _finishin' school_?"

"Nah, not in this day and age," Helen replied, flicking away the ash from her cigarette.

"I'll tell ya one thing, they defaced my home with a plaque!" Delphine replied. "I been by there a few days ago. My home's now a museum of horrors."

"Ah, death is so beautiful," Helen smiled. "I've seen lots in my lifetime alone, and I _know_ you have, as well, _madame_."

"Ugh," Delphine scoffed. "I was a woman of my time!"

"Bullshit," Helen hissed. "You have a mean streak the size of your huge ass. Say, I heard you were underground all these years, yeah?" Delphine glared at Helen and sighed.

"Yes. She ain't told you yet?"

"Well, she did. I just wanted you to tell me," Helen said.

"Well, there. I told ya."

"How'd you get under there?"

"Don't ya know the answer to that, too, little miss?" Delphine questioned. Helen took another drag from her cigarette and blew it out forcefully into the air.

"No, I don't, smartass," she snapped.

"Laveau gave me a potion to help out with situation with my husband. He was unfaithful to me. I planned on killin' him for weeks, though," Delphine explained, "puttin' poison in 'is buckwheat."

"Then why did you have the potion?" Helen asked. "Why didn't you slip in his food or something?"

"It was meant for me. I was tricked. Felt sick as a dog," Delphine answered. "Laveau said I'd be buried underground to pay for my sins. Then, those niggers took my babies, you know? Hung 'em in straight line right up in front of my house. My husband, too. Him, I didn't care about, of course."

"Well, thanks for storytime," Helen said rudely; the next thing Delphine said, however, caught her attention.

"I don't care what kind of monster anybody says I am. I loved my girls, well, in my own way. Even the ugly one," the centuries-old woman said. "The moment she came out of my belly, she was a shame to me. She had the face of a damn hippo, but I loved her just the same. Hell is real. I've seen it down in that box. Time disappears. The only thing that's left is what's in your mind's eye. And all mine saw were the faces of my girls. Forever."

Helen, who took her time putting out her cigarette in the ash tray, looked at the woman with her fiery hazel eyes, thinking of Eleonora. Despite her constant verbal and mental abuse, she still loved her daughter. She had saved her life on the two occasions she tried to commit suicide, and it was the last of her healing powers she had ever used. She had tried to bring her up alone, even though Eleonora grew to be independent and self-sufficient. She had tried to keep her daughter's powers under wraps so people wouldn't ostracize them in their southeastern Florida community. She had tried to encourage her daughter to embrace her hereditary abilities even though Eleonora was so dead-set on living a normal life like a normal person. Helen sat back and looked at Delphine—_she's just like me_, she thought.

"Eleonora's my daughter," she finally said after a moment of silence among chirping hummingbirds and the late summer wind.

"The freckled girl?"

"Yeah."

"She's got hair like sunshine," Delphine smiled.

"When I had her, I thought 'oh, another blonde in the family."' She sounded very facetious as she looked up to the clouds in the distance.

"You're fortunate," Delphine said.

"No, I'm not," Helen sneered. "She's below me."

"Why? She's just like you!"

"Not even close. Eleonora is a _dog_ compared to me. I'm that graceful Persian cat that slinks around with admirers everywhere," the platinum-haired woman said as she fluffed her hair as adjusted the top of her dress. "You know what I told her the second time she tried to off herself?"

"What'd that be?"

"I told her that the next time she tried to kill herself, she should _hang_, for I can't fix a broken neck or collapsed lungs," Helen revealed.

It was a chilling enough revelation to send fear down the woman's spine. Delphine had abused, tortured, mutilated, and even killed many of her slaves during her own time; she had even tried to punish her daughters in a similar fashion after they had planned to kill her, but it wasn't her that ended up killing her daughters—it had been her own slaves under the direction of Marie Laveau, also alive in those times. The way in which Helen deterred Eleonora from suicide was very much like being heartless enough to let her daughter die; murder by negligence, one would say.

"You're worse than me," Delphine finally said, her blue eyes widened beyond oblivion. Helen smirked, the fire flickering in her eyes like candles in the darksome night.

"I've been told, but you're not one to talk," she answered, chuckling with a sigh.

"You look so innocent and beautiful, but on the inside, you're the devil himself," Delphine mentioned. "W-Why?"

"Wanna hear a little story about me, madam?" Helen asked.

"Y-Yes."

"Good, but if I hear it being spoken about at the breakfast table amongst the girls, I'm blaming _you_. If you tell anyone, you're _dead_, you hear?" Helen threatened her eyes scarily intense at the centuries-old woman, who took her 'promise' very seriously given how she carried her seemingly soulless heart.

"Y-Yes, ma'am," she promised. "I won't tell anyone. Y-You can trust me."

**A/N:**

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	15. Chapter 15

NOTE: _This chapter is written in the first person as __Helen__'__s point of view._

**WARNING:** _This chapter contains content which may be triggering or disturbing to sensitive readers. Discretion is advised._

* * *

><p>You know, Helen isn't my real name. My last name, Mortenson, I kept after my divorce. I legally changed my name in the late eighties or so.<p>

_"__What was your name your mother gave ya?" Delphine asked_.

My birth name was Elina Linnea Darling.

_"__What a beautiful name," the centuries-old woman told her. "Linnea."_

It was only my middle name. Means "lime tree" in Swedish.

_"__Are you Swedish?"_

I'm just getting to that. Just listen.

My childhood was pretty normal, actually. I was born in South Carolina on October 28, 1966, the youngest of five children, and my father, Jimmy, owned a farm. He was American, born and raised. However, my mother was not. _She_ was from Sweden, and came here in the early fifties. Her name was Britta. My parents met performing in a freak show in Jupiter, Florida. My father had something wrong with his hands. Two pairs of fingers on each were merged together; they named him 'Lobster Boy'. My mother, however, was showcased because she had telekinesis, but I know she had other powers as well because I lived with her.

"_W-Was your mother a witch?" Delphine asked._

See, that's the thing. She _always_ denied being a witch. She was church-going woman; very religious. We went to church every Sunday in our town. I wouldn't consider her a fanatic, so to speak. She just, well, didn't want to be called a witch. Looking back, she was indeed one. I actually got my powers from her, and I passed them on to Eleonora. My mother got her powers from her mother, and her mother before, and it goes all the way back, a hereditary line.

I had four brothers—wait, no. Five. The eldest sibling, a sister, changed her name to Adam because he had a condition that led to him having a sex change and becoming a male. Apparently he was a lesbian before the operation, too.

_Delphine grimaced, looking at Helen in horror. _

Madam, it's a different time. People get sex changes.

_"__Oh, dear Lord. You've forsaken this once, proud country!" Delphine reacted, frowning at the thought so alien to her own ideas._

Oh, quit bitching! Let me continue…

Then there was Christopher, probably the most normal of all of us. He was the second eldest, and for a time he worked for an automobile shop. Next came Tobias, or we called him 'Toby', he was a piece of shit. He had a temper problem and always found a reason to bitch. Next was Julian, or 'Jules'. He was a good kid, just two years older than me. Finally, there was me. My family all loved me. I was put on a pedestal by my father. I was his little girl, but then again, I was the family favorite. Life was good. I was actually an 'alright' kid. We also had others being a part of our family on the farm, but over the years, they either died or moved away, at least during my lifetime. There was Bette and Dot Tattler, who were conjoined twins. They were like another pair of mothers for us. Then there was Pepper and Salty, microcephalics; but they made us all smile with their antics. Jyoti, who was the size of a toddler, also brought us joy and helped my mother around the house. Eve was six-foot-eight, and then there was Paul, all tattooed and had seal-like arms. We had a bunch of former freaks living on five acres, but my father had built a separate house for those who couldn't fit in the main house as the family grew. Nevertheless, they were all my family.

"_Was your mother a good person, Mrs.__Mortenson?" Delphine asked_.

Eh, yeah, she was alright. She never let me wear pants, though. She also had the most annoying accent. By the end of her life, she had been in America for, say, close to thirty years. You would think her accent would fade, but not really. A Swedish accent sounds weird, especially with broken English, but my mother was fluent in English by a certain point. It still did nothing to get rid of her accent because she still spoke Swedish with us. Thank god I'm bilingual, though—I speak both languages. I can still remember the way she spoke… _She took a sigh and cleared her throat_. "Hallo, ei am Britta, end ei am from Gotland. I deny-i zat ei am a veetch, be-kaus-e zat is ze dei-vil's verk."

_Delphine howled so hard she turned purple just hearing Helen's imitation of her mother._

I know, right? She talked like that, though. Annoying as fuck, but I was used to it.

_"__Watch yer language!" the woman said._

Oh, shut up! Just listen…

So my life was good up until a certain point. It was 1980 when things got sour. We had already lost a lot of our "extended family", if you will. My mother died during this year, and it sent all of us in a frenzy. She went in her sleep; we don't know for certain how she died, but it was a peaceful way to go. My father snapped, and my brothers pretty much all tried to struggle to adapt without her. Eventually, they did—Christopher got married and remained in our town. Barnwell, South Carolina was the name. Toby got a football scholarship and went to college, and Jules joined the Army. Adam had already been living up in New York, and he was doing very good for himself; a girlfriend, a budding music career as a songwriter, they had a place up there; a very good life. I remember hearing from my brothers that the morning my father found out she was dead, he dragged her body into the bathtub, went in with her, and turned on the cold shower. The medics and police had to literally tear him away from my mother's dead body just to get him to let go. He went so ballistically insane that he was confined for four days in the hospital's mental ward. He was sent home in time for the funeral, though.

* * *

><p>It was July, so that August and September, big changes came to the family. That's when my brothers began leaving. It was just my dad and I. The conjoined twins were in the lap of luxury while we were getting poorer by the month. My father was deeply depressed; he loved my mother more than anything, and it was really bad considering all our farmland went to waste. I remember seeing crows pecking at the soil to find seeds only to find my father hadn't planted any. That went on until we had our farm foreclosed—I remember being fourteen-going-on-fifteen when I was in the real estate office, seeing my father go berserk. I found out about his drinking problem only a short time before, so his rage was pretty bad.<p>

"This is BULLSHIT!" he shouted. "I've owned that land for TWENTY-FIVE YEARS! TWENTY-FIVE YEARS! I made a livin' off that land! And you think it's ok to just SNATCH it from us just like that!?"

"Sir, I'm sorry but you haven't paid your bills in six months," the realtor revealed. My eyes widened, and my jaw dropped open; for real? How could he have forgotten to pay bills! The dumb fuck.

"Dad!" I exclaimed in shock.

"THIS AIN'T FAIR!" he shouted, continuing his fit.

It went on for a bit. I had to leave the room, too. Shit hit the fan when I found out he was selling my horse, Dagmar. I loved that horse. I was so furious, crying my eyes out when my father suggested that. He was sober, and hadn't taken a drink all day when he said it, and I wanted nothing more than to kill him. I took my final ride on my mare before she was sold off. Every gallop, every slow trot, everytime the wind wanted to mess up my hair, I cherished it—I knew I would never get it back again; I was still mad at my father, though. He set her price as $2,000, and a nearby farmer, the father of one of Adam's friends, had purchased her for a price higher by $500. My father's excuse was something I had never heard from his mouth before.

"We need the money," he said. "We're getting out of town."

"Where?" I asked, looking at him and projecting my anger into him. His answer was slow, but he took a breathy sigh.

"Jupiter."

One of my best friends was in Barnwell, and I didn't want to leave her behind. Lily was her name, and she was a gapped tooth girl with mousey brown hair and huge-ass glasses. Quite a nerd-looking girl, really. I loved her, though. She was one of my only friends, and I trusted her with my life. We cried our eyes out and hugged the last day we hung out with each other. After my mother died, Lily had helped me revamp my image and pretty much everything. By the time we were close to fifteen or so, she didn't wear her glasses as much as we dressed CRAZY! I mean, the 1980's was a time dedicated to experimentation with clothing. I will admit, I was more revealing with my clothing choices than her. I had dyed my hair a more golden shade of blonde, and I began my journey on cigarettes. My dad didn't really seem to care; he was too focused on the juice to care about me anymore.

_"__Oh, my," Delphine sighed._

I know, it's sad. It was worse when we moved to Jupiter. It's a town in Florida, and I ended up moving back there with Eleonora after my divorce.

* * *

><p>I remember hating that town. My school sucked, and the first few weeks there, I was lonely. My father did nothing but drink and fuck whores who would pay him. One time, some young girl gave him $300 just to bonk him. It was pitiful—no one would hire a filthy drunk. He really was a filthy drunk, too. After my mother died, he didn't shave as much, he didn't bathe as much so he constantly smelled like whatever he chose to drink himself to death with, and sometimes he'd wear the same clothes for days on end. That <em>and<em> his deformity…phew, I wondered how a man like that of fifty-something would attract twenty and thirty-year olds.

_"__My husband was unfaithful to me with younger, beautiful women of marriageable age," Delphine recalled. "It _did_disturb me that he didn't desire me." She shook her head._

Don't even get me started on _that_. A midlife crisis after being widowed was no fun for him. It twisted his mindset so bad not even Jesus could save him.

_"__But you still spoke with people, right?"_

Well, I did reconnect with a friend I met at my thirteenth birthday party. Well, more accurately, my future-then-ex husband, Nick.

_"__So tell me more about your father, Helen," Delphine commanded, her blue eyes focused on the intensely beautiful woman. Helen softened her voice, sounding solemn._

I remember one night, we had ordered Chinese food. I told him what I wanted to do with my life. He had asked me a few days before, but I didn't have an answer.

"You know how you asked me what I want to be when I'm older?" I asked him. He didn't answer, and poured himself more liquor. I getting aggravated, but don't forget, this was a time when I could keep my cool without getting too mad about things.

"I want to be a nurse," I said after an awkward silence. "I want to help people, you know? Go to nursing school…get trained…change someone's life…" That's when shit hit the fan. I couldn't stand it anymore. I looked at his bottle of jack and smashed it with my mind. It got all over the place. I was furious. I never before was as angry as I was that night.

"ANSWER ME!" I screamed at the top of my lungs for the world to hear. "I'M TIRED OF THIS! STOP IT! You're killing yourself! Drinking yourself to death like you're some lazy-ass vagrant off the street, wallowing around all day while I'm at school! AT SCHOOL! I _HATE_ THAT FUCKING PLACE! I HATE THIS TOWN, DAMN IT! You don't even have a _fucking job_! And the sad part is, YOU DON'T GIVE A FLYING _FUCK_! Ever since mamma died, you've been a wreck! Look at you! You even _look_ like shit! You're _pathetic_! It's no fucking wonder they foreclosed the _FARM_! You had a BEAUTIFUL farm! FIVE FUCKING ACRES! _MY CHILDHOOD HOME_! ALL TO WASTE! YOU HAD A GOOD LIFE!"

I started to cry, and my voice was hoarse from screaming so loud at him. Poor pussy; he was scared out of his wits. I was also shocked he didn't yell at me or something—he had a bad temper.

"You sold my horse! Dagmar…I loved that horse! YOU FUCKING SOLD HER! JUST TO COME DOWN TO THIS SHITTY TOWN! And, let's not forget, DRINK! DRINK, DRINK, DRINK! THAT'S ALL YOU FUCKING DO! Mamma wouldn't want to see you like this! Ever since we came down to this shit hole of a town, you've been bringing girls home. Every night, I have to blare my FUCKING STEREO just to not even_HEAR_ you guys bonking in the room across the hall! Do you even realize how _ANNOYING_ that is? I'm FIFTEEN! It's DISGUSTING! You're literally _old as shit_ and you're bonking twenty and thirty year olds! IT'S DISGUSTING!"

It broke my heart to see the father I had once loved and respected just throw his life away. I remember sobbing until my heart nearly gave out. I couldn't breathe.

"You need to stop it._PLEASE_! Please! Stop…just _stop_…_please_…can you? For _me_? _At least_?" I requested, still with a piercing voice but slightly calmer. I was too drained to even talk anymore.

_Delphine shook her head, looking down before looking over at Helen again. "What happened next?"_

You don't want to know, trust me.

_"__You've gone too far in your story. Please tell me," Delphine begged._

Alright. My father took my virginity.

_Delphine's jaw dropped, looking at Helen as she continued._

* * *

><p>Yup. I became a replacement of sorts for my dead mother. She'd have been rolling in her grave to know the things my father and I had done together. I'll never forget it…the night he told me he loved me as more than just his daughter. Sick fuck.<p>

"That's _not_ true, Elina," he said through gritted teeth. "Don't say that. I love you."

"You don't act like you do, drinking and being a lazy bum," I retorted before leaving for the door of the apartment we lived in. He grabbed my wrist. I had threatened to leave and go up to New York to live with my brother, and I conjured fire from my hand. I yelled at him to let me go.

"Let me go," I said tearfully.

"Elina," he said softly. "I don't _ever_ want to let you go."

"Dad, you have to," I replied. "You need help. I can't _give_ you that help. You need to see someone about your drinking."

"Elina." He let my wrist go and went a little too close for comfort; literally. "I'll make a promise to you. _Only_ to you. I'll never pick up another drink again. I'll get a job. You were right about everything…I failed as a father."

"No." I disagreed with him out of sympathy. "Don't say that. You're just…a little sick. You need help. A therapist, a doctor, someone. You can't just make a promise and—"

"Elina," he said, gazing down at her with that same strange gaze in his dark brown eyes. "I love you."

"I know, you probably do deep down, but you're still drunk. I know you are," I said, pointing to our living room. "You need to rest. I'll make you breakfast in the morning, just please. Go to bed or…or rest on the couch."

"No, Elina," he protested. He looked down into my eyes with the strangest look. "_I love you_."

That was the moment he held me close to him, like he would have with my mother had she been alive, and he kissed me. Right on the fucking lips. Yuck, I remember tasting booze, too. Disgusting. Before threatening to leave, I used my healing powers on him to make him sober up. Clearly he had been drunk during dinner, but I was scared. He wasn't drunk when he gave me a creepy-ass liplock. I was fifteen, and he was fifty-something.

_Delphine was speechless._

I tried to talk him out of wanting me in _that_ way. I was still so young, and it would've been illegal anyways. We argued a bit, but it was peaceful arguing.

"I stopped sleeping with women two weeks ago," I remember him telling me. "I was probably too drunk to think about sex and…I…I…I kept thinking about you," he said. The strange gaze came back.

"Ew. Disgusting." I was appalled.

"It's not disgusting, Elina. Yeah, you're my daughter, but if I love you very much, it won't matter," he replied.

"Actually, it does. What if I told you I hated your guts and called you a dirty old man?" Now I was on the ball with my argument.

"Then I know you'd still love me because I'm your father, and not for any other reason. We'd move on with our lives as if this never happened," he responded. What hell was he telling me? I disregarded it and chuckled, rolling my eyes.

"So let's pretend you never told me you loved me. You're still getting help, though." He _really_ needed help at that point.

"I can't hide how I feel. I wanted you to know, and for many reasons," he said. He took my hand; for the millionth time in my life, I had felt his calloused hands with fused fingers.

"What's one?" I asked.

"Because…if you love someone, you don't hide secrets from them," he told me. I wanted to smack myself in the face—I blushed for the first time in a while at that point. He kissed me again, telling me to close my eyes. I had my first kiss at thirteen with the son of a plantation owner in Barnwell, and it felt…well…at the time, weird because he was my father, but good because he told me not think about him as my father. Does that make any sense?

_"__I'm disturbed," Delphine said._

I know, me too. I'm going to leave it at this—he took my virginity, and I was in a relationship with him. I was daddy's little whore. Well, until Nick and I got closer.

* * *

><p>"<em>So you finally saw a boy?"<em>

Yup. Nick was very good to me. His mother also was from Sweden, and our mothers were friends at one point in their lives, so she knew me. My father never wanted me with boys. He really cracked down on that topic with me, even before we began…uh…you know. But yeah, Nick and I even had sex.

"_Oh."_

Better with him than with my father. I practically seduced the son-of-a-bitch at a party! One of our dates, we went to the beach. We did it there, too.

"_Ew!"_

Hey, shut up! It was different in the eighties, but it's even more different now. Be grateful.

It all came to head—three friends I had made shortly after the night my father seduced me, I met three girls. They became my friends, and I dyed my hair back to its natural color—platinum. _She ruffled her hair_. I hung out with them at the mall to shop or whatever, but they also were my tool to get to be with Nick. I lied to my father just to see him by saying I'd be with them. The bitches betrayed me, though. My father finally caught on, I guess, and called one of them. I came home one night, and I'll never forget what happened.

"Dad?" I asked. "I'm home. Are you ok?" He furrowed his lips inward as if to grit his teeth, but he said nothing. A few moments of silence passed before he let any words escape his mouth.

"I called your friends," he said solemnly.

"_Why_? How did you get their number?"

"You haven't been with them, have you?" he asked me. Then he started to cry.

"One of them…they said you…you have been seeing this boy…that…kid…from the football team…dating…seeing each other everyday since we've moved here…is it true, Elina? Is it true?" Of course it was!

"And what if it is?" I asked. He gasped and wailed again, sobbing into those grotesque, deformed hands he had touched me with so many times.

"Why would you do that?" he cried, bearing his heart on his sleeve. "I love you…so much…I care about you more than I do myself…I went clean for you…I stopped drinking for you…and _THIS _IS WHAT YOU DO?"

"Dad, you're sick." I finally had the guts to say it—he was sick. No widowed father in his right mind would settle on his daughter for romantic love. It just didn't happen. It was very unnatural. "Have you been seeing a psychologist, too?"

"ELINA! STOP IT!" he shouted. "I love you! You're all I want, and you're all I have!"

"I'M YOUR DAUGHTER!" I screamed, feeling the potential of my power build up within. "…and you're my father. This is _not_ right. You may say you love me, but really, you're just using me as a substitute for mamma. Ever since mamma died, you've been a wreck. You…somehow snapped in the head." I got slightly teary-eyed but held everything back like a floodgate about to burst open from the force of a tempest. "I know you miss her a lot, dad. You loved her and the ground she walked on, but she's gone now, and—"

_SMACK! _

He smacked me right across the face.

He had _never _hit me before. _Ever_. Not even in his drunken stupors. He had only done it to my brothers. Never to me.

I fell to the floor; he yelled down at me.

"DON'T YOU _EVER_ TALK ABOUT HER AGAIN!" he screamed, continuing to cry through his pernicious rage. "YOU BROKE MY HEART! I CAN'T HELP HOW I FEEL! I CAN'T JUST ROLL THEM UP IN A BALL AND STUFF THEM BACK INSIDE!" He paused. "As for your little _boyfriend_, I'LL KICK HIS ASS TO CURB AND TELL HIM TO NEVER COME BACK!"

Then I used my power and burned his ass. I didn't kill him, though. Yet.

_"__You killed your own father!" Delphine hissed, exclaiming with disbelief._

Shut up! Remember what I said? _Delphine listened more._

* * *

><p>I don't really see it like that, madam. It was more like a mercy killing. I did him and the world a justice. He got to see my mother again and be with her, that's for sure. Nick was the only witness. I wiped his memory out—he not only didn't remember the event, but he didn't remember me, either. As for those three bitches who betrayed me, I lured them to a secluded area. Of course, I didn't want the blood on my hands, so I persuaded a rough-looking man to kill them.<p>

"I'll suck your cock, baby," I said, looking up at the man to seduce him—he was average-looking, maybe just over thirty. I went to town on him, and he agreed. He didn't taste all that good, but I got what I wanted. He shot all three girls dead when they came to the scene. Then I made the man have a heart attack and die right there. If he were to tell the cops I was making him kill someone, then I'd get in trouble. You know?

Long story short, I was brought up to New York to live with my brother Adam and his then-new fiancée Audrey. They had been together for quite a while and doing good for themselves. She was a nurse, and he was a songwriter for a studio. It wasn't New York City, though, even though Adam went there for his job on occasion. I remember Adam grieving over the loss of our father. Wasn't a big loss to me, though. I killed the sick bastard.

"They never found his body," I remember him saying. "He must've been too delirious. Was he drinking?" I nodded.

"Yes, he was."

"You didn't think to stop him?" Adam asked.

"He was in a bar. I couldn't go to a bar just like that. Remember, I'm fifteen?" I answered persuasively.

"That's right." He then shook his head. I was a tricky bitch. Still am. You gotta know when to say the right things. We had no body to bury…no funeral for poor daddy Darling.

_Delphine shook her head. "About New York. Where did they live in New York? Was life any better?"_

They lived in Kingston. I was given the guest room; but…that October, I learned I was pregnant.

_"__Pregnant?" Delphine asked in shock._

Yeah. I was four months along. I decided not to have an abortion because I had no idea who the father was. Plus, it was illegal at that time to have an abortion anyway. Audrey noticed I was gaining some weight, but my belly didn't show until six months or so. I didn't have a particularly big belly. My pregnancy was a blur—I dropped out of school. I never got to be a nurse. _Helen shook her head_.

_"__Did you find out who the father was?" Delphine asked, looking at her in horror. In her time, it was shameful to be pregnant out of wedlock._

Oh, yes, I found out. Once I got labor pains, they took me to the hospital, both Adam and Audrey. I pushed, strained…it was hell. It was like passing a bowling ball through my cunt.

"It's a girl," I heard the doctor say. Then he looked down, and I felt a sharp contraction pierce me like a knife. "Oh, dear. There's another. Twins!"

"_Twins_?!" I was in shock. The second was a baby boy. I didn't get to see them until the anesthesia wore off. That's when I knew who the father was.

They were wheeled over in their carts from the nursery, and the moment I look down at them for the first time, I was scared shitless—they were my father's children. Inbred little bastards. What gave it away? They didn't have DNA back then, but I knew. The baby girl was beautiful. The baby boy's hands were disgustingly deformed. I've never seen anything so disgusting in all my life. His hands were split down the middle slightly, but he only had a thumb and a finger on each hand. Both babies had colorless eyes that stared off into space—the boy was quiet though. I never was so disgusted in all my life. The next morning, the nurse tried to pick him up and bring him over to me. I remember having just woken up.

"This is your son. You should hold him, miss," I remember her saying to me, trying to extend the bundle in the blue blanket to me. I glared at her; I wanted nothing to do with either of those little bastards. His hands…there was no way that came out of me! I looked away.

"No," I said. "Get it away from me."

"Miss, I know you are emotional from the medicine. Postpartum depression is normal, but you have to understand. Your babies need extra love, especially your little boy. He is deformed," she told me, her dark eyes trying to persuade me before she looked down at the little good-for-nothing that came out of me. "Please hold him? Show him a mother's love?"

"He won't get an _ounce_ of love from me!" I snapped. "Get that…that _thing_ away from me right now!"

_"__You even called your own son a 'thing'," Delphine said, looking away to stretch._

I would have aborted those bastards had it been legal and had there been paternity testing. If it were Nick's, I would have raised them.

_"__Why aren't they in your life now?"_

I was just getting to that, madam.

* * *

><p>I got home from the hospital with those little inbred sons-of-bitches four days later. I remember that night, Adam and Audrey were at work—I was home all alone with them. The boy wouldn't stop crying, but he smelled like shit, too. Adam had changed its diaper for me. I pretended to be sick just so I didn't have to look at those last reminders of my father. Then I had an idea—I went to their bassinets and took each of them to the guest room that had become mine, one at a time. The baby boy was relentless, and I hissed down at it. It only made it worse. After that, I went and grabbed some stuff—a knife, a pillow, a large cooking pot that could fit a baby. My thought was this—if I brought them into this world, I could certainly take them out as well.<p>

I tried to kill the baby girl first—she was beautiful and seemingly healthy, but I wanted to save the fun twin for last. She was still in her baby outfit, still a bit bloody from when I tried to stab her (I missed a few times) and I put a blanket in the pot before conjuring fire from my hand. I took it to the inside of the pot, no second thoughts, and watched as the flames grew. Unfortunately, something really strange happened—before the fire could even hit the baby, I saw everything freeze. I was in shock, and the baby's eyes looked up at me. I was just really confused, so I didn't even bother trying to kill her again.

The baby boy with fucked-up hands, however, I had fun torturing that bastard. I laid a pillow over his face first and pressed down very hard to try and muffled his crying, but apparently, he was moving around too much for me to actually do any damage. I can still hear my sixteen year-old self shouting at that little fuck to stay still.

"Stay still!"

"It'll be all over! Stop fucking moving!"

Nothing worked…I was hopeless. I tried to stab him, but I managed to only hit a few non-fatal areas. Then, to sum it all up, I tried drowning him. By eleven that night, I had tried everything to kill those little fucks, but I failed. I was too frustrated to even think about stopping both their hearts with my mind.

I took both of them and got on a bus to New York City. It was a two hour trip from Kingston, but it was worth it to get rid of those little fucks. It was March, naturally it was cold, and I didn't care if they froze when I put them on the doorstep of Nassau County Children's Home. I got home at about four in the morning. Adam had asked me where the babies went. When I told him I gave them up, he seemed shocked.

_"__When did life get better, Helen?" Delphine asked, still in shock over her attempted murder of her own children._

Not for a few years after. I was eighteen when Adam got me a job singing in a jazz bar. He got a promotion, so we had to move to Manhattan, where the bar was anyways. It was a seedy little place, but it was nice. I felt like a star. I remember my audition—the manager, the owner, the bouncers; they all loved me. I was a goddess being worshipped. I dated a ton of men, even crossing the racial boundary. I gotta say, they weren't kidding about that phrase… "once you go black, you never go back."

_"__You slept with a nigger?" Delphine asked in shock._

Again, it's a different time, and yes, I slept with a few black guys. There was one member of the audience who was a regular at the bar. I gave a performance one night, my own rendition of 'Bang Bang, My Baby Shot Me Down'. I remember seeing him approach me at the bar—I had a cigarette in my mouth and a glass of wine at the counter.

"You are fabulous!" he had said. He was a much older man. I later learned he was pushing seventy—he was filthy rich, too. My god.

"Hm, what's a man like you doing in a seedy place like this?" I had asked, puffing out smoke.

"My son's the owner," he said, taking a seat next to me on the stool. "I've been watching you since your first performance. You are magnificent, and I would_love_ to get to know you better, darling. What's your name?" I used my new name for the first time—it wasn't legally changed until 1988.

"Helen," I said.

"What a classic name," he said. "Call me Tony. Tony Pasquale." He was Italian-American, for sure. Looked like that guy from _Good Fellas_. "How old are you?" I was hesitant to answer.

"Eighteen," I said. At least I was honest; he chuckled.

"You're just a _bambina_," he said with a wink. "I'm too old for you, but…hey, do you mind the age gap?" Why would I? I was fifteen when I was in a relationship with my fifty-one-year old father.

"Not at all," I smirked. I saw him reach in his coat pocket, and he took out a business card of sorts. I took a drag of my cigarette and looked down as he gave it to me.

"Keep in touch," he said. "Whenever you need me, call me."

* * *

><p>Out of sheer curiosity, I called him the following week. He seemed to happy to talk to me, and I hadn't seen him at the jazz bar in the audience. From that first phone call alone, we really hit it off. He was very good to me, and I didn't care that he was old as shit—he was rich. That's all that mattered. He pampered me, showering me with diamonds and anything I could ever want…providing me with material comforts beyond measure. I eventually moved in with him, and the first time we had sex, it was awkward but bearable—it got better, eventually. He even paid for my maid of honor gown for Adam's wedding. They married in June 1986 after being together for close to a decade. My brothers all came up to celebrate, and they were the groomsmen, and Audrey had a few cousins and, of course, me in the bridal party. Beautiful ceremony, I remember. Yet marriage brought a huge burden on their relationship.<p>

Tony and I continued our love affair, while Adam began one of his own. I don't know why the fuck that man got married, because there was a new girl who came to the jazz club to perform the following year. She was a skank—her name was Dina. Black hair, brown eyes. Beautiful, but skanky. She sounded like a broken record when she sang. And how did I know they were having an affair? Well, I walked in on them making out in our living room on the couch. Adam was in a horny frenzy. I never expected him to cheat on Audrey like that and throw what they had away. Oddly enough, I was confronted by Audrey herself about the matter—she asked if she could talk to me, and we were the only ones in the high-rise Manhattan penthouse; Adam got rich from his new job and this was his new place.

"Adam is cheating on me," she said, sounding hurt. "To think I married him, god, what was I thinking?"

"Not with your head, I know that," I replied—we were sitting down together. "I saw him with Dina, too."

"You didn't tell me?!"

"I didn't want to mess up your relationship, you know," I answered. That was when I actually had a heart to care.

"You're just as bad as him by not telling me," Audrey told me—she was a beautiful woman with dark hair, blue eyes, and perfect makeup…just gorgeous. To think Adam would just throw her away like a used toy made me sick.

"I'm sorry," I had said, putting my hand over hers. "Adam is my older brother. He's beyond my control."

"You have powers," she said; my eyes widened. "Adam has told me."

"Your point is?" I was curious.

"Can you…uh…oh god…uh…" She has hesitant. "Can you…_hurt_ people with your powers?" Of course I can, you stupid bitch!

"No, and I refuse to," I lied.

"I…" She got teary eyed. "I want Adam dead, Elina. I can't live with man who won't be faithful to me. He broke my heart, you know."

I lost my temper and my heart…my last bit of sanity, too. I got up from my seat, and she soon followed. She seemed frantic, afraid, fearful—I looked back at her angrily, loosing my inhibitions and concentrating on her to lift her off the ground.

"You take that back, you bitch! I will NEVER kill my brother! _EVER_!" Adam was one person I truly cared about—I did not want him dead. I could never.

"N-No! Put me down!" she begged, sobbing her heart out.

"No!" Well, I actually did. Then I punched her in the face so hard a tooth came out. "YOU DISGUST ME!"

I then looked over at the French doors by the balcony—our penthouse was sort of high up. I knew exactly what I was going to do to both protect and punish my brother—I loved Audrey, but if she was going to be a threat to my brother, I wanted her dead. My brother, though, he needed punishment. Nothing good lasts forever, you know. I made sure of it when I used my power to toss her out the window and out to the city below. I forged a suicide note, and put on my best face when a distraught Adam found out about her "accident". He bawled his eyes out for three days. I wanted to punch the bastard—if he really loved her, he wouldn't go with some bimbo after a year of being married.

After the funeral service and my fake tears went away, I found him in the living room holding the suicide note I had forged, the last piece of Audrey he could ever habe. I no longer felt any guilt—I lost my heart and my sanity when I killed her. He also was holding a bottle of whiskey, drinking down his sorrows like my father had when my mother died. He finally spoke when he heard me enter the room, looking up with bloodshot brown eyes.

"I can't believe she's gone," he sobbed. "What did I do to deserve this?! AUDREY!"

"I'll tell you what you _didn't_ do," I said nonchalantly. "You weren't faithful to her. She couldn't stand you anymore."

"Huh?" I could tell he was getting drunk.

"You cheated on her with that whore from the bar!" I sneered. "You weren't any good to her! You just married her!"

"How could you say that? I_loved_ Audrey! I just…needed a mental break," Adam cried, pushing his palms into his eyes.

"Bull_shit_, you loved her!" I shouted. "If you really loved her, you wouldn't have broken her heart to drive her to this point! You're turning into dad!"

"I don't believe you. You're my sister, and you're supposed to support me during this difficult time," he said, shaking his head. "Go back to that rich old guy's place. Please."

I was surprised he wasn't angry with me with the heat I was putting on him; I guess he realized he was wrong for doing what he did. Whatever, I killed her. I did him a justice—she wouldn't be a threat to him, and he could fuck any woman he wanted to.

"_You're _really_worse than me," Delphine said. Helen chuckled._

Want to hear more? Last part, I promise.

_"__What happened to that old man? Did you kill him, too, for his fortune?"_

No, I didn't kill him. In fact, he pulled me out of the jazz club and put me in a gentleman's club—stripping off my clothes was fun, but after he died in 1987, I was left $500,000. That was it. His three children inherited his estate and belongings. I still own all the jewelry he's ever given me, stored away in my apartment closet somewhere. I found work in a brothel…

"_A brothel? Oh my!" Delphine gasped, looking at her in shock with great blue eyes._

Yeah. I fucked my fair share of guys, but I didn't service just anyone. It was mainly upper-middle classmen or upper class gentleman. I was classy, made that way by Tony, but the things I did were still disgustingly dirty. I won't get into detail. It's also how I reconnected with Nick.

_Delphine was eager to hear more, and a slight smile was written in her face._

I was his escort. He apparently was finishing up college in New York City. He was a banker, you know. After a few times rekindling our romance, I legalized my name as "Helen" and we fell in love all over again. We married in 1990.

As a prostitute, I loved what I wore—I wore a lot of red lingerie. Luckily, I was on birth control…no unwanted babies for me.

Eleonora was born after Christmas in 1994…she's still a dog. I may have been terrible to her, but she's still my daughter. I love her.

_Approaching footsteps came toward the doorway behind them leading to the veranda; both women looked back and saw Queenie look at Delphine authoritatively._

_"__Slave?" she asked. "My laundry needs to be folded. Why are you out here?"_

_"__Alright, alright." When she got up and went back into the manor, Helen was left alone with her thoughts and a brand new cigarette._

**A/N:**

**Sorry if this chapter was long! But SURPRISE! Helen is, in fact, ****Elina****. Now you know why she's such an evil witch-bitch! If you can go further and put two and two together with the previous stories or other factors in this story, good for you!**

**Leave ****Reviews****, and be sure to ****Favorite****and ****Follow****!**

**Thank you! **


	16. Chapter 16

_Knock-Knock!_

Later that week, Eleonora was expecting Julie to come to the academy as promised—Zoe and Madison were also told about the matter, and Queenie and Nan soon found out. When she went to answer the door, she brushed her white button-up shirt clean before unlocking the door and turning the knob to see the ice-blonde, tall woman dressed in a rich, cobalt blue ceremonial gown that was belted at the waist with Viking designs going down the center of the neckline. Around her neck were a few amulets, some of which Eleonora had seen before. Her snow-white tresses were braided and woven in with red ribbons. It was nighttime, just after sunset, and her hair was bright enough to be distinguished from a distance, even. _How many stares did she get for wearing this_, she thought to herself as she welcomed her into the manor.

Julie stepped in and looked around as Chase followed close behind, wearing a long sleeve under a short sleeved shirt with jeans, sneakers, and his hands gloved with the same gray mittens as when she last saw him. His gray eyes also looked around nostalgically, smiling sadly as he looked at his sister and at Eleonora.

"We were here before," he finally said.

"Shh," Eleonora lulled softly, putting a finger to her lips. "My mother is in the office down the hall. You have to be silent. Let's go upstairs. He's up there."

Upon arrival, the rest of the witches, Zoe, Madison, Queenie, and Nan were all sitting in a circle in Zoe's room, where Kyle was sitting in the very middle as he rocked back and forth mindlessly. Chase and Eleonora joined by taking their places in the perimeter of the circle—the man was flabbergasted to see so many girls in one place, but he looked at Kyle, whose dark eyes stared off blankly. Julie, however, sat in front of him slowly as not to intimidate him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You'll be much better, Kyle," she told him.

The ritual began—Julie took from her bag a candle holder with a canary yellow candle, which smelled earthy but sweet, and set it up to light it. She looked at everyone, who watched with intrigue as the woman continued to take out a few other supplies needed for the spell, including a sterile sewing needle, frankincense stick, a wineglass with and an elaborate, large book with a brown leather cover and brass prongs on the binding. Eleonora's green eyes widened in the extremely dim, candle-lit room at the book Julie had in her possession.

"Liber umbrarum et lux," Julie said. "The Book of Shadows and Light. There are only a few left in the world. I have the pleasure of owning one of them."

"Ugh, can we just get on with it?" Madison begged rudely, rolling her soft brown eyes back into her head with annoyance. Julie maintained the calmness of Buddha as she glanced over at her, opening the clasp of the book.

"Patience is a virtue," the woman replied, opening the book and flipping to a page entitled _Loquitur_—Eleonora, who had previously studied Latin in high school, recognized the word and immediately related it to 'speech'. Julie's soulful gray eyes peered down at the scripted text, comprehending every word exactly how it was written before looking at Kyle, whose dark, dead-looking eyes bore holes into her soul; she sighed sympathetically, and took the wine and poured it into the glass before taking the needle.

"A drop of blood is needed from each finger here with the intention of making him speak coherently," she told everyone. She looked at Chase in specific for some undefined period of time, and he felt worried—he said the first words since coming into the manor.

"I-I don't want to," he hesitated. Julie sighed, realizing he had to remove his prized, trademark gray mittens in order to get the drop of blood from him necessary to complete the ritual.

"Chase," Julie said, crawling over toward him and taking one of his mittened hands. "I'll prick your finger for you. You can't leave. The circle is already cast."

"But they'll see!" he exclaimed with worry.

"Yeah, what are you hiding under those gloves?" Madison asked snottily.

"Please stop it. Center your mind on the ritual. Clear it so that intentions of granting Kyle his speech back may enter," Julie replied hypnotically, successfully distracting all but Eleonora and Kyle from looking at Chase, who felt extremely uncomfortable.

"No one here is going to make fun of you, Chase," Julie encouraged. "They are our friends. Remember?"

"I don't want anyone to see how ugly I am," he replied, a tear coming to his eye. Julie held the bottom of his glove that attached them to his hands, and looked him straight in the eye persuasively.

"You're not ugly," she said. "You are _special_."

Chase's face became flushed with embarrassment and humiliation, as he was under the impression that the witches would insult the part of himself he had kept hidden for so many years from strangers. Julie slowly took off his glove to reveal a severely deformed hand. Eleonora gasped quietly as not to attract their attention, taking in the horrifying image. Chase's hand was slightly split down the middle, and there were only two digits present; his thumb and small finger. She was not particularly frightened, though—she was rather fascinated and even had pity on him. _Poor thing_, she thought, _whatever that is, that looks pretty bad_. Julie took the glass of wine and put it between her and her brother before encouraging him to take a deep breath so she could jab his thumb.

"Ow!" he groaned. "I hate needles."

"Thank you," Julie replied, trying to bleed the small perforation so it could drip into the glass before putting Chase's glove back on him. Eleonora sighed—_you don't have to hide_. If only she could tell him.

All of the witches were encouraged to speak while pricking their fingers to bleed into the glass in order to raise the effectiveness of the spell, for the goal was to get Kyle to speak like normal once again. Julie took another glance at the open spellbook and looked at the witches, gesturing them closer in a hypnotic fashion so they could take a look at the incantation written in the old parchment-bound book.

"We must first make Kyle drink this," Julie said, recalling her memory of the text. She looked to Kyle and extended the wine glass, but he didn't seem to budge or acknowledge that it was being given to him. Madison leaned in, glaring as Julie tried to offer the blood-infused wine to the undead creature.

"Oh, c'mon!" the starlet sneered. "Let's force it down his throat. Queenie? You hold his head."

"No, that's not a—"

Julie's protests were cut off as both witches did just that. Queenie went behind Kyle and held his head; he struggled as a reflex, but Madison peered down at him, holding the glass of wine to his lips. She glanced over at the scripted text of the book, not understanding a word of it and opening her mouth to show him what she meant.

"Open up," she ordered. Kyle tried, and as Queenie held his head steady for him to drink down the wine bewitched with their blood, wine fell down the sides of his lips even though the starlet tried to use her hand to get it in his mouth. Julie sighed, shaking her head as she led the witches to recite the incantation aloud in unison:

_"__Per __Mercurii __alis __angeli __videlicet  
>Mandamus <em>_vocem __loqui.  
>Ipsam laetitiam<em>_velis, miseria, ira et__risus.  
>Tu quae<em>_tua potentia__rationis est.  
>Audivi<em>_vocem tuam__post paululum.  
>Et servatorem animæ tuæ, nos tibi.<br>Et exaudi nos,  
>Esto<em>_nobis.  
>Fac tibi<em>_nota!__"_

Kyle, having swallowed all of the blood-wine mixture, laid back on the rug in the very center of the circle of witches. They all closed their eyes, holding each other's hands as they chanted the final part of the stanza over and over.

"_Et servatorem animæ tuæ, nos tibi.  
>Et exaudi nos,<br>Esto __nobis.  
>Fac tibi <em>_nota..."_

"W-Where...am...I?"

The witches stopped chanting, gasping at what they just heard—they all focused on Kyle, and everyone, especially Zoe, couldn't believe it. Eleonora and Julie gasped, and Chase smiled as he saw the undead creature looked over at him with his deep, dark brown eyes. They seemed to sparkle in the candlelight, but then he watched as the young man looked over at Zoe. Julie smiled, happy to have helped the young man regain his ability to speak.

"Kyle?" she asked.

"Miss? May I?" Zoe offered.

"Yes," Julie said. Zoe crawled closer to Kyle, looking into his dark brown eyes as he stared back; there was a spark of vitality in his eyes, and he reached up slowly to try and touch her face. When he did, he kept his hand there, and the girl smiled.

"Kyle? Do you know where you are?" she asked him.

"Na-na," he muttered. Julie furrowed her eyebrows inward, watching the scene from her seat next to Eleonora and Nan. The freckled blonde looked at the striking ice-haired woman, confused as she leaned toward her.

"Why is he talking like a baby?" she asked in a whisper.

"_Shh_," Julie went, "just watch." Zoe took Kyle's hand, but at least he wasn't rocking back and forth mindlessly anymore.

"Kyle? What is my name?" Zoe asked, her honey-brown eyes kind and calm. She saw the undead young man try to gulp as he looked down, his blond curls falling down his forehead.

"K...K-K...Ky...uh..." He stopped trying to speak for a moment; Julie and the other witches watched. "Z-Z-Z...Zo...Zoooo...Zoe?"

"Yes," the girl replied. "Do you know your name?" Zoe had a smile across her face, and the rest of the witches were all excited to see Kyle start functioning like a normal human being and not like some simple-minded creature.

"Oh...uh..." Kyle stopped. "K-Kyle?"

"Yes! Excellent!" Zoe exclaimed with joy, taking him into her arms for a heartfelt embrace. Julie smiled; _it worked_, she thought, _it really worked. I can't believe it_.

* * *

><p>The following day, Fiona approached Helen while she was sitting in the headmistress' office with a cigarette fuming between her fingers. She steadily blew out smoke from her nostrils and mouth like a bored fire-breathing dragon, her fiery hazel eyes staring off into space. Her painted crimson lips were a full, sassy pucker, and her black eyelashes batted whenever she blinked.<p>

"Helen," Fiona said, walking into the room. "Do you not have anything better to do than to smoke, dearest?" Helen smirked and chuckled rudely.

"You could've fooled me," the platinum-haired woman snapped.

"Don't be snappy," Fiona warned. "I wanted to invite you for some coffee in town today."

"Coffee?"

"Yes, you and me," the Supreme offered. "And wherever else our minds dare to take us."

"Count me in," Helen said, putting out her cigarette.

The two walked around town, and the colors of their outfits seemed to coordinate—Fiona was wearing her signature black, while Helen was dressed in bright red with a matching crimson Kentucky derby-styled hat with a crinoline flower on the side. Their stilettos hit against the cobblestone streets of the French Quarter, where they turned heads just trying to get to a local café with outdoor seating. The two women sat down and each got cups of hot, spicy cappuccino—during their talk with each other, Helen's cup had not cooled down one bit, for the heat emanating from her pyrokinetic hands kept the cup hot.

"So how did you become Supreme?" Helen asked.

"Well, no easy task," Fiona replied slyly; she was wearing sunglasses, so Helen couldn't quite figure out the look behind them.

"Spill it," Helen ordered. "I want to hear some juice."

"Alright then..."

* * *

><p><em>1971<em>

_"__They say when a new Supreme starts to flower, the old Supreme begins to fade. You've been fading, Anna-Lee," said an eighteen-year old Fiona. _

_Anna-Lee had been the Supreme witch before her, and the young girl began to despise her. Anna-Lee, however, was not a bad person yet she was flawed to some degree. The older woman looked down at the fire burning in the fireplace, sighing before looking back into Fiona's calculating brown eyes._

_"__Shall I show my power, Fiona?" she asked her—the girl was not convinced. _She's weak, _the girl thought cruelly._

_"__You're weak, Anna-Lee. We both know why!" Fiona hissed. "Diabetes, heart trouble, liver failure, God knows what else. As I get stronger, you get weaker!"_

SMACK! _Right across the young witch's youthful, untouched face._

_"__You_ vicious_little gash. I've seen the _ruin_you will bring this coven if you are allowed to take power now," Anna-Lee lectured, walking a step closer to the girl. "You're a selfish, craven little child, Fiona. I will make it my mission to ensure that you will _never_take the throne. I'll see you burn in hell first."_

_Fiona shook her head and took out a knife she had been holding on her person, flipping up the blade and swiping it across the Supreme's neck, making her choke and gasp for air as blood oozed and squirted from the gash that killed her within moments of its infliction. When she dropped to the floor, more blood stained the carpet, and Fiona looked down at what she had just accomplished._

_"__Fine," she muttered. "Save me a spot!"_

* * *

><p>"Wow," Helen said with a nod. "I'm impressed." She sipped her coffee, and just when she was to reach for a cigarette out of her purse, Fiona's voice stopped her.<p>

"You don't seem afraid of me, Helen," she noticed.

"I'm not."

"I've never told anyone, but Spalding, our butler, was the only witness to what I had done," Fiona said. "He's been gawking at me for years with lust in his eye. He even cut his own tongue out. He can't even talk."

"Ew," Helen grimaced; turned to a sinister smirk within moments as she pyrokinetically lit her cigarette. "But think of what he can do with the rest of it." Fiona shook her head and laughed haughtily.

"You are a minx," she told her.

"I've been told," Helen smiled, taking a drag of her cigarette before drinking her cappuccino.

"You always say that. You've been called everything in the book, haven't you?" Fiona asked with annoyance. Helen blew out the smoke from her cigarette and smirked, her high, rouged cheekbones prominent.

"Yes, and it seems quite clear that it's growing bigger everyday, the shit people call me," the woman answered. "Whore, slut, skank, harlot, strumpet, tramp….I've heard them all, and you know what? I don't give a flying _fuck_ what people think of me. I'm me, and that's all there is to it. Don't like it? Fuck off and _die_, or I'll make the latter a reality."

"Very direct," Fiona smiled. "Not only…ruthless and cunning…and…heartless…but _very_ direct. I like you. I'm happy I hired you, Helen. You've been a major help since Cordelia's accident."

"Glad I could be here," Helen said in a monotone, sipping her coffee.

That night, Fiona and Helen returned to the academy and went into the ancestry room to light a fire and have some wine. The platinum-haired woman ruffled her hair and gazed down at the flickering hearth, remembering that it was the same one she had ignited after convincing Cordelia to let Eleonora into the academy. The guard was not put up, but was folded and leaned against the side of it. Helen put out her cigarette and walked toward the table to get a bit more wine. Fiona, however, just stood up from her seat and looked at the shapely woman, sighing sadly. Before she could speak, Helen turned around and held out the bottle of wine.

"More for you, Fiona?" she asked.

"No, no, I'm fine," the Supreme replied. Helen placed the bottle back down on the table and made a few steps over to the Supreme, taking a sip of wine.

"So…how did you become a witch?" she asked, pushing back her platinum locks. "Were you born with the abilities you have? Were you taught?"

"No, I wasn't taught. I don't agree with that thought," Fiona said.

"Me neither," Helen said. "I remember a boy from my youth wanted me to teach him my powers. I accidentally burned him, but I was young and stupid. I couldn't teach him. I was_born_ with my powers, and therefore I can't just teach anyone if I tried." Fiona stared off into space, letting her deepest thoughts ramble after she put out her cigarette in the ashtray.

"Having my powers…well, it's like a dance; a dance no one ever had to teach me. A dance I've known since I first saw my reflection in my father's eyes," the Supreme explained. Helen listened with full attention, but was confused even more as she rambled. "My partners have been princes and starving artists, Greek gods and clowns, and every one of them certain they lead. Yet it's always _my_ dance. _I_ make the first move, which is no move at all. I've always just understood that they will eventually find themselves in front of me. Primitive, beautiful animals. Their bodies responding to the inevitability of it all. It's my dance and I have performed it with finesse and abandon with countless partners. Only the faces change." Fiona sighed. "All this time, I never suspected the night would come when the dance would end."

Helen was baffled by the single-ended speech Fiona had given in her presence. Much of what she said was relatable, but why was she telling her all of this? Had her last sentence been a warning of something to come? What was going through that woman's mind? Either way, Helen looked at her with fiery eyes, walking slightly closer to her by a few steps as she took a rather large sip of her wine, leaving it half full once again.

"I don't understand," she said softly. "Why are you telling me all this?" Fiona seemed to disregard her as their eyes met in a steady gaze.

"You have powers, which I know," the Supreme said. "Have you felt them…_intensify _lately?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Helen asked sarcastically, sipping her wine.

"No, I'm serious," Fiona said, putting a hand on her black-clothed hip. Helen's hazel eyes burned at the woman as she placed her glass down.

"I've been_imbued_ with power since the day I was born," the platinum beauty said degradingly. "In fact, so much that it puts _you_ to shame. Power flows through me everyday of my life, so there. I can't tell a difference, not even if I _tried_."

"Have you ever wondered why, Helen?" the Supreme asked, looking at her with deep curiosity. Helen looked back at her, an almost satanic look in her fervent hazel eyes.

"No, I've never," the platinum beauty replied with another quick sip of wine. "Want to know why? It's because I _know_ _why_. There's no reason to ponder on something you know the answer to. What's the point? After all, look at me. You can easily tell I'm the most wicked bitch on earth." Helen, keeping her gaze on Fiona, moved a step closer. "I'm nothing like my daughter, and nothing like my mother used to be, either. My daughter is afraid of her own shadow. My mother was a Swede and a Lutheran, but also, a witch. A _witch_! Just like you. Just like my daughter. Just like me. It took me a long time to figure out my true potential, and it's gotten me everywhere and nowhere all at once. I'm not just a witch-bitch. I've ruined people's lives with a simple action in my own mind. I've seduced married men both as a job and a hobby. I've injured people." Her voice became a sharp whisper. "I've killed people. I've brought hell to this world like the ball of fire that I am. I don't regret _anything_ I have done. I'm a _very_ destructive human being, and unlike most, I'm not afraid to admit that I have no heart beating in my chest, at least not one that _feels_." She backed away a step from the Supreme, who looked at her with horror. "If I wanted to repent, I would've by now. If that's what this is all about, Fiona, then count me out."

"D-Do you know why you're so wretched and so beautifully cruel?" Fiona asked, fear present in her voice; her suspicions were coming true—perhaps Helen had come to serve the coven for a reason? "Was there ever a time in your life where you actually felt compassion for another human being?" Helen chuckled quietly and took a huge gulp of wine, finishing her glass and setting it down roughly, a clink heard from the bottom flat part of the glass.

"Those days are _long_ gone, Fiona. I can't feel a thing anymore," Helen said, a grisly look on her beautiful, ageless face. "I lost my sanity a_long_ time ago, and any feelings I had for anything went _right_ down the toilet with all the shit I've done. Need I say more?"

"No, but...you have a _lot_ more potential than you realize, Helen," Fiona said with a sad, miserable expression. "_I_ am the source of that potential. My life force is literally pouring out of my body and into yours as we speak." She sighed tearfully, a confused Helen looking at her strangely. "I have cancer. I won't last the year."

The woman's eyes widened, and Fiona could see the fire burning ferociously in them. Helen had only contradicted herself when she told her she couldn't feel emotions anymore; her heart raced with anxiety and anticipation, seeing the Supreme start to cry in her hands and whine as though she had fallen from grace. Helen glanced down into the fireplace, concentrating to make it more intense and flicker higher before looking at Fiona with genuine concern for the first time in so many years.

"Y-You need to see a doctor," the platinum beauty said softly. "Chemotherapy can really get rid of cancer. Or even radiation. You need help, Fiona." The Supreme laughed as if it were a joke—Helen got frustrated, but kept it down, letting the fires in her eyes flicker to indicate her feelings.

"Chemo? Oh, no, no, no, no, _no_. I'm not going out bald and shriveled and _begging_ for morphine. _No_!" she responded arrogantly. "I've lived a disreputable life, but I've done it in style, and I'll die likewise." She took a glance around, but then her eyes focused on the wall between the two windows, walking over to them and looking at the paintings of women. Some were indeed very old; "I don't belong on these walls. I took my inheritance too soon and squandered it. All that... power, all those gifts. I just took it and poured it back into myself and dressed it up in Chanel." She looked back at Helen. "I was a _shitty_ Supreme." Fiona turned her brown eyes back to the wall, pointing up at a woman with a blonde bun and white clothing. "But, my mentor, Anna-Lee Leighton. _She_ was a _Supreme_. She was majestic and powerful." Fiona began walking back to Helen, who looked at the woman with confusion. "She taught me everything I know. You know how I thanked her? By cutting her throat. Right where I'm standing."

Helen's eyes widened slightly as she watched Fiona take out a freshly-sharpened, but old knife that had been hidden on her person. The platinum beauty gasped and looked at Fiona, a million thoughts racing through her mind. _Is she for real_, she thought, _has she gone psycho_?

"With this," the Supreme continued, holding it out handle-first to the woman. "I've kept it all these years. Now it's yours. Take it."

"Have you _lost your mind_?!" Helen shrieked. "I'm _not_ going to slit your throat, Fiona. Nu-uh! Not when I can easily burn you to death or cause cardiac arrest! Nu-uh! No!"

"Then I wouldn't be dying in style, Helen! Don't you understand?!" Fiona asked forcefully. "Come on! Take it!"

"Fuck no!"

"Oh, are you _afraid _now, _witch-bitch_?!" Fiona asked emphatically. "Finally have a heart when it's _convenient_?!"

"You're retarded," Helen sneered.

"Use it! Kill me for the sake of the coven, Helen! You are the next Supreme, and I'm on my way out already!" Fiona begged, getting tearfully frantic.

"I know why you want me to do this!" Helen shouted. "You want the blood on _my _hands for some petty-ass reason so I'm put away! Nu-uh!"

"DO IT! Feel my power run into you! I'm standing where you're standing!" Fiona cried out.

"You're not _me_! You dumb bitch! You're _below_ me! I'm more powerful than you will ever be! What's the fucking difference?!" Helen hissed.

"DO IT!" Fiona cried out again.

"SHUT UP! I'm not slashing your throat, and that's final!" Helen warned.

"DO IT!"

_SLASH!_

A look of shock froze on Helen's face as the blade moved like rapid fire against the flesh of her throat, clean cuts through her carotid and jugular, slicing the platinum, ageless blonde beauty's throat. The fires in her hazel eyes extinguished within a flash, leaving them a dark brown color as pressurized blood squirted from the open gash. Fiona, however, looked at the woman with shock and shame—_oh no_, she thought.

"Helen…"

_THUD!_

She fell to the bloodstained white carpet, her neck deeply slashed as blood continued to emanate and seep from the fresh, fatal wound. Fiona was in tears, her hands covering her mouth that went from a frown to a smirk. She heard footsteps, and looking up with anxiety, she saw no one but Spalding, the mute butler—he had witnessed the whole thing.

"What's the matter?" she asked, smiling. "Cat got your tongue?"

There was no answer from the mute man—Fiona lit a fresh cigarette, seeing that Helen's blood had seeped into the rug so much it required deep cleaning. No one had time for that.

"Clean up this mess," she ordered. "This coven doesn't need a new Supreme." She took a seat and crossed her legs. "It needs a new rug."

**A/N:**

**Keri here! I'm sorry if this was yet another long chapter! But hey, surprise, surprise!**

**Leave Reviews, Follow and Favorite! I appreciate all your support! It keeps me writing!**

**Thank you!**


	17. Chapter 17

Meanwhile, Queenie was sitting in the academy's kitchen—Delphine was in front of her kneading dough for what she was preparing for her to eat. There was a glare in her blue eyes, but Queenie paid it no mind. After all, it was wonderful to have a personal slave. Talk about reverse psychology.

"I sure do love chicken pot pie," the obese girl said, sitting in her seat. "For dessert, you can make me a peach cobbler." Delphine's blue eyes glared at her, radiating hate and feelings of a condescending nature as she kneaded the dough.

"You never gonna catch a man that way," the centuries-old woman sneered. "Let alone find one to love you. You were my daughter, I'd padlock that icebox and throw away the key. Peach cobbler ain't gonna keep you warm at night."

"My problem ain't food, you dumb bitch," Queenie snapped, calming down within seconds. "It's love. Dr. Phil says that kids from broken homes use food to replace love. It's comforting."

"You best look for another physician," Delphine replied.

_Clang-crash!_

The sound of glass breaking startled Queenie, who sprung up from her seat to go to the window above the sink. She lifted back the curtain and looked out to see a strange figure that resembled a man but his head was large with horns. Delphine had stopped kneading the dough for the chicken pot pie and walked over slowly to the window. Her eyes widened, a chill creeping up her spine as she gasped. Queenie was also particularly frightened.

"What the hell is that thing?!" the witch exclaimed. Delphine's voice became a shrill whisper of fear and despondence.

"Bastien," she muttered.

"What?!"

"It's Bastien," Delphine repeated, "My houseboy. He was a beast in life, now evermore so. Enchanted no doubt by the same dark magick which has kept _me_ alive all these years. That witch freed me only to make me a slave"

"Oh my god!" Queenie exclaimed with horror as she grabbed the woman's arm, gripping tightly on her wrinkled, fleshy extremity.

"I know who you are! You deserve _worse_ if half of what they say about you is true!" the obese witch hissed, looking down at her personal slave with haunting black eyes.

"Unhand me, nigress!" Delphine shouted demandingly.

"Did you do that to him?!" Queenie asked emphatically.

"You will unhand me! Now!"

"_Did you do that to him_?!" Queenie repeated, yelling over her.

"Yes, I did," Delphine confessed, her mind delving deep into her memory. "H-He violated my daughter…"

* * *

><p><em>1834<em>

_He was sent to the slave quarters in the attic, where many negroes in Madame LaLaurie's service had been sent for making even the slightest mistake. He was chained to the wall, where a slave had previously had their eyes gouged out and their viscera spill from an incision in their abdomen. Bastien was in big trouble when he heard the voice of the lady of the house as she entered the quarters later that night._

_"__Bonsoir, my pets. Did y'all miss me?" Delphine had said, a few anguished moans crying out in pain from their torture. _

_The lady of the house closed the door behind her and stepped in, the negro slaves' eyes looking at her in horror. One of the female slaves, whose mouth was stitched shut, screamed out with her stitched lips to muffle the loudness. Delphine reached down to wrap her across the face, screaming down at her like a demon from hell._

_"__Hush up!" she barked. "Or I'll rip them lips open and shove more shit in there!" The mutilated slave looked up in horror, watching the woman walk closer among cages and broken limbs toward Bastien, who was chained to the wall. Delphine grabbed her whip, repeatedly lashing him with it and cursing._

_"__You violated my daughter, and you gonna pay," she hissed._

_When the seemingly endless physical torture came to an end, Delphine reached for a heavy object that dripped blood upon picking it up. Bastien, weakened from the blood loss caused by the whip lashings, held it up—it was a hollowed-out bull's head with great big horns and flies still stuck to the fur._

_"__My great literacy began with Greek mythology," the sadistic woman began, looking into the dead eyes of the bull's head. "I used to sit on daddy's lap and he would read me those stories full of them vengeful gods and miraculous creatures. The Minotaur was always my favorite. Half man, half bull, and now…" She prepared to put the hollowed head on top of Bastien's who screamed out. "I have one of my very own."_

* * *

><p>"I made him into a Minotaur," Delphine said. "He also was Marie Laveau's lover. That's why she punished me. Sent me underground after giving me that potion."<p>

"We have to get him away from here somehow," Queenie said, having just unhanded the centuries-old woman.

Delphine was confused about the plan Queenie had thought up with even though it was simple as all. In her own mind, Queenie remembered that Bastien may have hated the woman for what she had done to him, torturing him and making him into a disgusting beast. The witch took a knife and cut Delphine's exposed arm and made a clean towel absorb the blood—Queenie's plan was to lure the beast to the greenhouse and away from the manor using the soiled towel as bait. She walked out of the house through the kitchen's door and looked at the beast, waving out the towel. It took her some time to get the Minotaur to budge, but once he began to follow the witch, he stopped—Queenie felt intimidated, trapped in the greenhouse with it.

"She told me what you did to her daughter," she cowered, waving the towel in front of her. The Minotaur groaned, sounding somewhat sad; Queenie began to calm herself down, looking at him as she took a step closer.

"Wait a minute," she said softly. "You just wanted love, didn't you? I don't see how that can make you a beast." The creature grew silent, listening to Queenie.

"Come to think of it, they called me that, too," she continued. "That's not who I am. It ain't who you are, either. We…" She neared closer to it, looking up at its great big bull horns, "_both_ need love like everyone else. We deserve it." The Minotaur stared at Queenie, who removed her leather studded vest tossing it aside. "Do you want to love _me_?"

* * *

><p>"AAHHHHHHHHH!"<p>

Fiona, who had taken a seat to watch Spalding clean up the scene of Helen's murder, was startled by the sudden scream. Her eyes widened, before glancing down at the bloodied carpet, which had been rolled up with her corpse in it and moved toward the entrance of the ancestry room. Fiona stood up and looked at the butler authoritatively.

"Dump her body somewhere. Anywhere. Be careful not to drip on the tiles," Fiona said before leaving the room.

She exited the manor and walked out, hearing the screams continue to flood the night air. Fiona traced the sound back to the greenhouse, where, upon coming to the entrance, saw Queenie laying face down on the concrete floor—she looked to be on the brink of death, the bloodied towel and her leather-studded vest tossed aside as the witch struggled to get up.

"Oh…my!" Fiona gasped in shock.

"H-Help!" Queenie begged weakly. "I…I….it _hurts_!"

"What the hell happened?!" Fiona asked, crouching down to the near-dead Queenie, who struggled to breathe as the Supreme took her and rolled her on her back, making the witch groan and scream in pain as she fell unconscious.

_Another witch dead_, Fiona thought, _but this was not my doing_. She seemed frantic, panicking as she centered her thoughts. Queenie turned only slightly pale, and the Supreme centered her thoughts before leaning down to the obese witch's mouth. She hesitated before she decided to breathe life into her. The girl opened her eyes within a few moments, her heart beating and her lungs breathing once again. Queenie jerked up suddenly and looked around, seeing Fiona.

"What happened to you?! Were you attacked?" the Supreme asked loudly.

"T-T-The minotaur…" Queenie responded breathily.

"Minotaur?"

"LaLaurie turned some Bastien-guy into a minotaur a long time ago," the girl explained, feeling intense fear in her heart. "He was her s-s-slave."

"Oh my god…" Fiona just then remembered Marie Laveau having a lover mutilated by Delphine—_oh no_, she thought, _she better not find out he is back_.

* * *

><p>"My mother has been missing for a few days now. I don't know where she went, but I hope she is found soon. She has been here working as the replacement headmistress. Luckily, Cordelia is better and back now, but the question about my mother still remains. I haven't heard from her. That's why I am approaching you."<p>

Eleonora caught on about her mother, Helen's, sudden disappearance even the morning after she was killed by Fiona. The dead giveaway was the lack of a rug in the ancestry room—upon first walking in, she found it quite strange that the white rug was missing. She had questioned Fiona about it, and Cordelia, blinded from her accident, had been sitting on the sofa—the Supreme had an excuse on cue; "I spilled wine on the rug. I tried to clean it, but it was too messy. We are getting a new one very soon."

The young woman had been timid about the matter, and even what Fiona told her sounded a bit fishy. In Eleonora's logic, no one just replaced their carpet after a wine spill. No one just disappeared in a blink of an eye like that. Mom would've told me she was fired or was leaving, she thought to herself, seeing Myrtle Snow look at her from her stance near the table with the rest of the council members—Cecily typed on the typewriter about the girl's complaint.

"Cordelia returned to her position," Myrtle said, adjusting her black and white silk scarf. "Helen was let go."

"She would have told me, ma'am, that she was being let go and going back to her apartment in the French Quarter. That's where she lives," Eleonora replied. "She moved here when I first came to this school." Fiona, who was watching the meeting, peered through an ajar door, looking at the light blonde hair that cascaded down Eleonora's back.

"She never told you?" Quentin asked.

"No, she didn't."

"She probably did not want to see you upset," Myrtle assumed.

"Why would I be upset, though?" Eleonora asked. "I was happy she finally got a job, even if it was temporary. Then, I would know she'd eventually leave due to it being temporary." Spalding suddenly passed through with a feather duster, and the girl glanced over to see him dusting off portraits.

"Well...uh…um…" Myrtle seemed to be at a loss for words.

"I woke up a few days ago and came right down to the ancestry room. There was no rug. Fiona told me she spilled wine the night before, and tried to clean it but failed…there was too much, apparently…" Eleonora's sharp insight finally began to make sense as she continued. "Wait a minute…there's no way it could've been wine. _No one_ replaces their rug after a _single_ wine spill." The girl looked down at the council, almost a timid glare, but before she could continue, the familiar sound of high heels hitting the stone floor and the smell of cigarettes caught her attention—Fiona had entered the room.

"Well, well, good morning Miss Eleonora," she greeted facetiously. "Why have you come to the council? Are you in need of help?"

"Actually, yes. My mother has been missing for a few days, Fiona," Eleonora replied fearlessly. "I know Cordelia has returned, but my mother would have told me if she was leaving or not. She never did."

"Well, I haven't seen her either, come to think of it," Fiona said, taking a drag of her cigarette. "The carpet people are coming tomorrow to replace the rug in the ancestry room. We picked out an off-white. Really adds to the room."

"Fiona, are you sure that was wine? The girl here told us you spilled wine on the old one," Myrtle said.

The Supreme slinked over toward the extravagantly-dressed woman, her brown eyes calculating and domineering, staring at her up and down as if she were a mere maggot eating dead flesh. For a moment, Eleonora saw Helen in the Supreme's place as Fiona sneered down at the head of the council.

"Myrtle Snow…" She sighed, "look at you. Developing a sense of_style_ when no one was paying attention."

"We are curious. Helen disappeared, and the death of a witch can be punishable by death. At least on the perpetrator's part," Myrtle replied, rebuffing Fiona's insult.

"As I said, I haven't seen her. I suppose she just up and left, Miss Snow," the Supreme sneered. Eleonora looked at Fiona suspiciously, but her green eyes seemed to gleam at her as she looked back at her.

"She couldn't have just _up and left_, Fiona. She is _not_ that kind of person. I _know _my mother," Eleonora said, making her way to the door; she turned her head before leaving, stopping right in the middle of the doorway. "I'm telling you right now…" She sighed, trying to contain herself, "if I find out she is dead, or that someone_killed_ her…" Eleonora focused on Fiona with that one word, "…there will be hell to pay."

The girl left the room, suspicions racing through her mind as she walked down through the atrium and out the door. Meanwhile, Fiona and Myrtle looked at each other; the Supreme was not afraid of someone as timid and shy as Eleonora, but Myrtle looked at her strangely, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Fiona?" she asked.

"Mhm?"

"Did you kill Helen?" Myrtle questioned. "Tell me the truth."

"I have _nothing_ to do with her disappearance, Myrtle," Fiona replied connivingly. "She left when Cordelia came back."

"But the rug," Myrtle pointed out.

"I already told you! I spilled wine! _Red_ wine! It was too much to clean up!" Fiona shouted at her.

"_Too much to clean up_?" Quentin cut in; now he was also suspicious.

"It's a hard thing to clean out of a white carpet. Ask the carpet guys when they come to put the new one in!" Fiona responded forcefully. Myrtle didn't believe one word of what she said—she glared up at her through her thick, cat-eye glasses and grunted.

"You think I'm stupid and don't know anything, Fiona!" she said forcefully. "But believe me, I know what you've done! You must think you're very clever."

"Oh, I am very clever," Fiona sneered, blowing nicotine in her face.

"The Council reminds you, no witch has been tried, convicted, and burned at the stake since 1926," Myrtle said, hinting to Fiona what she really thought about the incident, "and on a personal note I'd like to add, I've got a book of matches in my pocket, and I'm just _dying_ to light this fire."

"Do your worst," the Supreme replied.

"You have no idea how much I know about you! I can't stand it anymore!" Myrtle shouted. "You killed Anna-Lee because she was the last Supreme! _And _you killed an innocent woman because she was the next Supreme! You'll get away with it! You always do!"

"Helen was_not_ innocent, you dumb cockroach!" Fiona lashed back. "She was the epitome of evil. An abomination!" Fiona calmed down, glaring at her. "But I _never _laid a hand on her, and she never did anything wrong to me! So don't sit there and accuse me of killing her!"

"Well, by the looks of it, there's only one way to find out!" Myrtle replied furiously. "SPALDING!"

Fiona shook her head as the mute butler made his way back into the room, looking at Myrtle and the rest of the council curiously. He breathed slowly, peering toward the flamboyant woman to watch her pulling out a pen and piece of paper, extending it to the butler.

"Write down the name of the one responsible for the disappearance and possible death of Helen Mortenson," the red-haired elder ordered. "Be truthful."

"Do you really think he's going to know?" Fiona replied. "Answering on a piece of paper. Give me a _break_. A _BIG_ break!"

Spalding did as told, muttering wordlessly to himself as he delved into his memory for the right name to put down. He had loved Fiona, even though it was unrequited, and he had been there to see Helen's throat get slashed and the rug soaked with her blood. Spalding began to write, and as it became clear what he had scribed on the paper, the council and Fiona gasped, seeing Myrtle's name in the sloppy handwriting.

"What?!" the redheaded elder exclaimed with disbelief. "That's a lie!"

"Remember," Fiona sneered coldly. "I always do! We'll see you at the stake, you traitor!"


	18. Chapter 18

The procession to the outskirts of New Orleans by the coven was a dramatic affair—every witch carried a black parasol and wore the raven shade, even Eleonora, who was disillusioned after hearing about her mother's murder. She was still extremely suspicious about the matter, for Fiona had claimed that she herself was the cause of replacing the rug; "I spilled wine on the rug. I tried to clean it, but it was too messy. We are getting a new one very soon." Even that didn't make sense, but the girl still had her reservations. Myrtle couldn't have done it; _she didn't know my mother that well_, she thought to herself as she walked behind Zoe and in front of Madison during the procession. There was simply no way.

Myrtle was dressed to the nines even as she was in her final moments—a long, crimson gown to accent her red hair and large, thick horn-rimmed cat-eye glasses, which was something she had always worn. Her hands were bound behind her back with a thick layer of rope, and it was her albino servants who tied her to the wooden stake centered practically in the middle of nowhere, but it was far from the city. Cordelia was blind and could not see Myrtle burn, but she was still in tears—the woman had been like a second mother to her when Fiona couldn't be. Zoe, who stood next to Kyle, had a look of shock on her face; she had never witnessed the death of a witch firsthand like this. Madison had no expression at all, while a disillusioned Eleonora stood there, her sparkling green eyes tearing up slightly. Myrtle was soon asked what her last words would be.

"BALENCIAGA!"

With her shrill, final cry, Fiona flicked a hot ash from her cigarette onto the pile of wood at Myrtle's feet, and the flames began to catch onto both the wood and the hem of the convicted's bright red, simple gown, working their way up to searing, charring, consuming everything on her person. The flames reached her head, and she screamed out as she became immolated, the fire working its magic and killing her slowly. Everyone watched the witch burn, and Eleonora even had thoughts of her mother—Helen's most powerful ability was creating and manipulating fire; to imagine her mother's spirit punishing Myrtle from the other side was beyond her. Helen preferred face-to-face confrontation; this was just too much to absorb. Nothing made sense anymore.

After Myrtle's corpse was burned to ash, Fiona stood fancily and dropped her cigarette on the ground, stepping on it before turning around to see three figures, two women and one man, standing there in a seemingly fixed manner. She took a good look at their faces, taking off her sunglasses as she recognized them to be Misty, Julie and Chase. Misty's curling, voluminous blonde hair was adorned with her signature black feathers, and she was wearing a light beige peasant top, layered necklaces, a forest green maxi skirt with an accent brown belt, and a periwinkle blue shawl.

Julie was slightly more elaborate with a black off-the-shoulder peasant blouse that exposed her ornate circular tattoo on her lower shoulder, a small array of silver and wood amulets on her neck, purple half pants that had grey stripes on a chain hanging on the side of the hip, and leather black lace-up boots that came to meet the bottom of the pants. Her ice blonde hair was glowing in the cloudy day, and her soulful eyes radiated kindness. Chase, on the other hand, was wearing a simple outfit consisting of a gray t-shirt, dark-washed jeans, sneakers, and his signature gray mittens on his hands. The coven turned to look at them, and Fiona broke her silence.

"Misty…" She muttered, remembering her as a former student at Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. "_Misty_?"

"Sure has been a while," the woman replied, her blonde hair blowing in the wind. Fiona looked at the twins, who stared at her blankly.

"Julie…" She approached them. "It's been, what…uh, ten years?"

"I think you're off by one," the striking woman with ice blonde hair giggled.

"Well, either way…" Fiona responded. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Totally right," Chase cut in. The Supreme looked at him crudely.

"I see you haven't gotten any smarter," she sneered. "You still sound like a fruitcake."

"Hey! Watch what you say," Julie responded forcefully.

"What brings you here, anyhow?" Fiona asked.

"We smelled something burning. Simple as that," Julie replied.

"I thought it was a barbeque," Chase said.

"Well, 'pparently not," Misty said, looking over that the half-charred stake Myrtle had burned on. "Who'd you burn?"

"None of your concern," Fiona sneered. "You aren't part of our clan anymore."

"That doesn't mean we are any different than you," Julie contradicted.

"Believe me, you _are_ different. Especially _you_," the Supreme sneered, walking away from them as she led the coven's uneven single-file line. Once Eleonora and Zoe passed Julie and Chase, they looked at them, Misty included, and smiled sadly, bowing their heads down obediently to the Supreme who led them away from the scene.

* * *

><p><em>The Other Side…<em>

_A time before existence…_

_Where the souls of the dead find peace…_

"Who is she?" the oldest woman asked.

"She is my daughter," another woman replied.

"She looks like a _hora_. I lived about three-hundred years before you, Britta, and I've never seen such…" the third woman, just a few centuries old to the date, trailed off.

The newest arrival to the Other Side opened her eyes; her vision was blurry for a few minutes as she turned her head around absent-mindedly. When she finally regained her vision, she saw a large group of women standing over her. She gasped with shock, startled by the faces of some as they came into focus. For once in such a long time, she felt afraid—she turned to her left to see a familiar woman holding her hand; her eyes were bright green, and she looked so much more youthful than when she had last seen her alive. Her golden hair

"M-Mamma?" she asked.

"_Ja_, Elina," Britta replied solemnly.

"Where the—"

"You died. Geirdís came and took your soul from earth," Britta said in her mother tongue.

"My name's not Elina!" the woman shouted. "I'm Helen. Helen Mortenson…I-I left that girl behind a _long_ time ago!"

"Time doesn't exist here," the third woman, whose platinum curls framed her delicate Nordic face; her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. "You are still Elina. You are still my descendant. _Our_ descendent."

"Who the hell are _you_?!" Helen shouted. "Get me out of here!"

"You can't leave, _barna_," Britta said, preventing her from leaving the pyre upon which she was laying. "Please calm down. Your temperament has ruined you."

"No, _mamma_! Get me out of here! Send me back to Earth to kill that bitch!" her daughter screamed. "SHE WILL PAY!"

"HUSH, WOMAN!" a harsh female voice boomed.

The large group of women turned, and some moved out of the way gradually to welcome a tall-statured woman with strong facial features, but there was something about her that struck Helen as different. The woman had a fierce presence, her piercing gray eyes like daggers at the newest arrival as her long, curling black hair framed her chiseled visage with a streak of gray flowing down the front. Her outfit consisted of a long, brown tunic underneath a white apron-like garment held up by brooches and cinched at the waist by a belt with a few pouches on it. A fur, perhaps from a bear, was draped over the woman's shoulders with a sharp, observant falcon perched on it while it made sounds only its kind would make. Helen also noticed several amulet-like pieces of jewelry pinned to her, and she sat up.

"W-Who are you?"

"I am Geirdís," she replied; her voice sounded lower than the other women she had heard, but it was not as aggressive as the yell she had cried out previously. "Your first ancestor."

"Come on, this is a joke if I've ever seen one," Helen retorted.

"That woman slashed your throat on earth. I came down to take it here, the Other Side. _This_ is the Other Side, and we've all been watching what you've done in your life on earth," Geirdís responded, her falcon coming to her finger so she could pat its feathers. "Would you say that you are proud with no regrets?"

"I don't regret a thing. Get me out of here," the woman ordered.

"You don't regret…killing your own father?" the oldest ancestor responded.

"He had some screws loose. I did him a justice," Helen said justly.

"Back in my time, if you killed your father, you'd be given a bloody eagle," Geirdís chided. "You'd be tied…" She slinked closer, "…you'd be cut at the spine…" Helen rattled uncontrollably in fear as the woman continued, "they'd break your ribs…turn them inside out…" She was at the end of the pyre, and Helen cowered in fear, "and pull your lungs through!" The woman stopped for a moment, her eyes like daggers. "I've seen it. My husband, when we were alive, did it to a warrior from an enemy village…and I have a good mind to do it to _you_."

"Don't!" Britta protested. "She's one of us! Yes, she killed my widower who was alive and…well, probably not well _mentally_, but that's a terrible thing to do. Please don't hurt her? Please?!"

"Oh, I won't," Geirdís stated. "But she is a _bad seed_. She doesn't even belong in this realm. Not even Hel down in Helheim will take her…We need to think of a place to put you, El_ina_." Geirdís looked down at the woman on the pyre as if she were scum on the bottom of her leather shoes. "Before you can fully become one with your mother…your _mormor_…" Frida, Britta's mother, was standing behind her daughter as they looked at the Norse woman, "or _any _of us again, you need to think about what disgusting, _vile _things you have done when you were alive."

"Oh my…" Britta muttered with disbelief.

"So, what the hell are you going to do to me?" Helen asked. "Huh? I'm dead. Why does it matter if you break my ribs and rip my lungs out? There really is no damn difference! Do your worst, old lady!"

Suddenly, there was the sound of soft, whispered female voices in the distance. The large group of women, which Helen estimated to be about several hundred, mostly with fair hair and wearing clothing from their time periods, walked toward a large, columned entrance with the older Norse woman leading them. She gasped to hear the voices, sounding like young girls; the women's spirits could see a few pairs of eyes looking down at them from the sky of the Other Side.

"_Helen…Mortenson….Helen….Mortenson_…."

"Elina?" Britta called out to her daughter. "They're calling for you."

* * *

><p>"I've never used one of these," Eleonora said, looking down at the spirit board resting on the table amongst three lit white candles. She then looked at Nan, Queenie, Zoe, and Madison, who looked back at her blankly. "You didn't have to—"<p>

"Zoe found it in the closet," Queenie said. "We wanted to help you contact her." Eleonora leaned in, whispering softly.

"I know Myrtle was innocent," she speculated. "She didn't know my mother like Fiona had gotten to know her. It's all so strange, but I have…I have my suspicions."

"Either way," Nan began, "remember earlier. We promised to watch each other's backs."

"Let's get her done, then," Madison replied. "Hands on the board piece."

Each witch placed a finger on the moving planchette, a wooden board piece that resembled a guitar pick with a piece of glass to see any letters that had come up to spell out answers to questions. It was situated in the center as they gathered their thoughts to concentrate with Eleonora leading by asking questions.

"Will the spirit of Helen Mortenson please make yourself known here and now?" the girl called out, closing her eyes with her face raised to the ceiling. Within a few moments, the planchette began to move toward the upper left: HELLO.

"Is that you, Helen Mortenson?" Zoe called out. It moved lower: YES.

"Prove it is really you," Madison jumped in. "What is your daughter's name?" It began to spell out again, the planchette moving from letter to letter: ELEONORA.

"Alright, fair enough," Eleonora said. "When is my birthday?" The planchette gradually moved from letter to letter to spell out, even using numbers: DECEMBER 27.

"Must be," Nan muttered, her hand on the moving board piece.

"Yes," the freckled blonde said. "We have some questions for you. Will you answer them for us?" The planchette slid over to the left and up slightly: YES.

"How did you die?" Eleonora asked aloud. The piece began to move again, and Zoe took a deep breath before her honey-brown eyes widened to see what was spelled out: THROAT SLIT.

"She bled on that rug. You told us it was wine, Eleonora," Nan said; the freckled blonde got teary eyed, sighing as she heard Madison's biting voice cut the girl down.

"Shut up! Eleonora's the only one who should be talking," she sneered.

"Then let me," Eleonora chided, looking at her sharply with verdant, sparkling eyes. She glanced at a candle before looking down at the planchette, asking a question. "Where are you buried? Who killed you?"

There was an awkward silence, but a brief moment of suspense as the witches all watched the planchette slide across, to and fro on the spirit board to spell out the following in an eerie succession, as mute as the one conveyed in its movements, its spelling, its weaving of letters—SPALDING.

* * *

><p>A few days had passed—not much commotion about Helen's untimely murder. Eleonora was still seeking answers, but the spirit board had not revealed her killer.<p>

Up in the attic, Spalding participated in some very unusual activities for an adult, a grown man, rather. He was mute, so naturally it was effortless to keep it a secret from the coven, from Cordelia, from Fiona, and from the council. He was a rather slovenly individual even as he wore a butler's tuxedo—he had scraggly, long gray-brown hair, yellowing, talon-like fingernails, and a weathered face with a grisly, short beard. However, in this spare moment of his time, it was like every other moment he had to himself—dressing in frills with the company of his doll collection.

He walked over to a wooden chest, which held even more of his doll collection, and moved a few aside, admiring a deathly, sickly marble-colored face. He moved another non-related doll toy aside, revealing her neck; there was a huge, deep gash filled with a colony of maggots feasting on the corpse's dead flesh. He took a sniff, and the odor was overpowering. Gagging, he ran to his bureau and grabbed his can of Febreze, labeled Clean Linen, and danced around the room as he sprayed carelessly to rid the room of the smell of decomposition. He giggled like a tard during the act, muffled by his short, mutilated tongue which couldn't make much noise.

He walked back over to the box to try and lift the corpse, once a platinum-blonde beauty with painted red lips, flaming eyes and a lustrous physique; she was still dressed in bright red as she had been when she was heinously killed. Spalding, adjusting his frilly baby bonnet, reached down into the wooden chest and tried to lift the body from its position. _Helen makes such a beautiful doll_, he thought as he heard a strange tearing on her body. He looked down, noticing her arm fell out of its socket, dangling weightlessly in the top of her dress.

Spalding simply muttered in disgust, releasing the body back into the chest and shutting the lid.

* * *

><p>"You said you would clean house," Marie chided coldly, sitting in the throne of the backroom of Cornrow City. "Not <em>play<em> house!"

"What's supposed to mean?!" Hank retorted—the husband of Cordelia, he was also a witch hunter who was undercover for the better part of six years. He had sent a fellow witch hunter to spray acid in the eyes of one of the witches, and once he found out it was his wife, he was extremely upset. Luckily someone had been there to kill the one who did it, though.

"What you think it means?" the woman with fine, smooth brown skin replied. "She made you hard, and you went _soft_! You fell in love with that sorry witch!"

"Bullshit!" Hank shouted.

"Bullshit?! That's right!" Marie said, jumping up from her seat and pointing her finger at him, her black eyes conniving with greed. "You supposed to be riddin' me of my enemies but instead, they MOUTHIER than ever! Showin' up on my doorstep, disrespectin' _me_! Even diggin' 'em up!"

Hank paced around, keeping his brown gaze on Marie Laveau, who was frustrated with his tendency for incompetence. Earlier that day, she had received a strange package in the mail—opening it up, she found the severed head of the Minotaur. Bastien had been her lover before Delphine mutilated him all those years ago. Worse yet, there was no return address, but Marie knew in her right mind who had sent the package to her. She was beyond furious.

"When I plant a fat-ass cracker bitch, I expect her to stay planted, not come back up like goddamn ragweed! And that Fiona—doing my Bastien like that…" The voodoo priestess fell to tears, collapsing back into her throne-styled chair as she buried her great black eyes into the palms of her dark olive hands as they fell a steady stream.

"Bastien. My poor Bastien. They desecrated you, and I brought you back life, and she took it away again?! Well, now we take hers and all! No more nonsense!" She rose from her seat again, and Hank was startled by her fierce determination.

"You go back there, and you bring me their heads. All of them! Fiona, her daughter and every witch bitch in that house!" she declared. "You bring me their heads, all of them! Then you burn that place to the ground! You do it, and you do it QUICK!"

She paused for a brief moment, looking at a fearful Hank.

"And I'll let you live," she muttered. "Understood?"

"Y-Yes," he replied.

"Now go!" Marie ordered loudly, pointing to the door of the backroom.

**A/N:**

**Hey, Keri here! I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! I've gotten lots of good reviews and I want to thank you guys for every one of them!**

**As you can see, Britta made a surprise appearance! I got reviews on the last story saying that you guys missed Britta, so I brought her back for a little bit. She's still dead, though, and she's in another realm. If you guys so desire, maybe I will bring her back for one last appearance before the end of the story? Hm, just a thought.**

**Please continue leaving ****Reviews****, and be sure to give this story a ****Follow ****and a ****Favorite****!**

**Thanks! Happy reading! xoxo**


	19. Chapter 19

"Chase? Can you please restock the bookshelves? We open up shop in another half hour."

"Ok, Julie."

Due to his deformity, Chase could not pick up the cardboard box with two hands like a normal person—instead, he kicked over the box, making it slide over the old, hardwood flooring of the occult shop. He tried to pick up a few books, and was able to put them into the upper shelves with no problem. However, as he progressed over the next fifteen minutes, he started dropping an increasing amount of books per lean down to the open cardboard casing. He tried to grab five books and hold them in his arm, but once they collapsed, a heavier one hit his foot and he winced, picking it up and angrily tossing it with frustration on the floor before collapsing to an Indian-style seating on the wooden floor.

He could feel his gray eyes welling with tears of sadness and hopelessness as he buried his face in his gloved hands, the light knit of the material absorbing his generously wet tears as he cried. He sobbed for a few moments until he glanced over a book title in the box. He sighed, reaching for it out of curiosity, and saw it clear as day—_Gypsy Magic_. _Gypsy_...the very word brought one person to Chase's mind; the witch from the swamp, Misty. She had become a very good friend to he and his sister, but to Chase, she was like a breath of fresh air; someone unique, someone special, as Julie had called him many times to boost his self-esteem. She was kind and heartfelt, healing up his chin when he fell on the frozen marsh the day his sister used her cryokinesis to solidify it. She was headstrong, able to effectively defend herself or others in a time of need. She was hospitable, which stemmed from her own loneliness, trusting of those she opened her home in the swamp to. Chase also loved the way her curling fair hair fell around her face, and how the feathers hung like ornaments near her ears. He adored how her blue eyes sparkled at him and his sister with friendliness. He admired the way she danced to Fleetwood Mac, spinning repeatedly and in a carefree manner as her signature shawl spun gracefully in sync with her movements. Misty was amazing in everyway, close to perfection…just a—

"Chase?"

Julie's voice broke Chase out of his daydream of Misty. He looked back quickly, still sitting on the floor with the book in his hands. Julie drew closer, the sound of her white crinoline-styled skirt swaying around her long legs as her booted feet touched the floor lightly with her walking.

"Are you alright?" she asked, leaning down to pick a few books he had dropped before collapsing into a brief episode of sadness. She placed them in the bookshelf and looked down at Chase, whose facial expression was blank, but his eyes smiled.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked.

"Thinking," he replied softly.

"Of?" she asked.

"Well…" He trailed off, bringing his knees up to him like a child. "What do you do when you like someone?"

"Huh? Someone special?" Julie asked.

"Yeah, like a girl. What do girls like?" he asked, his gray eyes curious and full of hope.

"Well, it depends," Julie replied, crouching down to meet him at eye level as she put in the remainder of the books needed for the job. "Who is the girl on your mind?"

"She's…f-f-f…" He had trouble saying the word, "_fascinating_. Blonde…very pretty."

"Eleonora?" Julie's inquiry sounded shocked.

"No, no, no" Chase replied. "I mean…uh…"

"Misty?" she asked, completing her twin brother's sentence.

"Yes! Her!" he smiled, his pearly whites radiating like a thousand suns on his handsome face. "I really like her. I want her to know, and I…I…" His mood seemed to morph from optimistic to hopeless, "I don't think she'll like me."

"Why? I think it's nice you like her," Julie wondered.

"Well…I'm ugly, remember? She won't want to see my hands. She'll look at them and be grossed out," he worried with a frown. Julie shook her head and looked into the eyes so identical to her own.

"No, Chase, remember what I said? You're _special_!" she exclaimed with a tear in her eye. "When someone loves you, they don't care about your hands. They care about what's in…" She pointed a finger outward and tapped the middle of his chest, "here. In your heart."

"My heart?" he asked.

"Yes. Your heart holds your soul…your true self. When that's radiating love and kindness, your physical appearance doesn't matter at all. It takes the right person to see that part of you for what it is…and…I can see…that…" She delved into her mind's eye, relying on her psychic abilities to find a definite answer, "you and Misty…well, you're _both _special. Two special people. Together. As one."

"Oh, really?!" he beamed, smiling up at his sister. He was still holding the book—it caught the woman's attention as she brushed her ice-white bangs aside.

"And that book…she'll love it," Julie smiled. "You should give it to her."

"As a present?" he asked.

"Yes, like a present."

There was a frantic, rapid, hard banging against the glass door of the occult shop, which immediately caught Julie's attention. She stood back up and walked closer to see Eleonora, surprisingly dressed in normal clothing rather than what she was made to wear by Fiona. She knew she wasn't allowed to open the shop until nine sharp, but she nevertheless opened it—Eleonora collapsed in her arms, crying heavily and wailing softly.

"Eleonora! What's the matter?" Chase called out, walking over to the two. Julie held her, suddenly shocked by her abrupt breakdown. She closed the door behind her and led her closer to the middle of the shop.

"I-I-It's…my mother…s-she…w-we…w-we found her…b-b-b-b-body up in the….a-a-attic…" she muttered up to Julie, fearfully sobbing and frightfully jittery.

"_What_?!" Julie asked with disbelief.

"H-H-Her throat was…s-s-s-slit…filled with m-m-m-m-maggots…the girls and I…w-w-we used a Ouija b-board to call to her…and…oh my god…_oh my god_!" Eleonora began to wail again.

"What's the matter? Please?" Julia repeated, putting a hand on the side of the girl's light blonde hair.

"Zoe…she…she killed Spalding! Our butler! Stabbed him!" Eleonora replied in a prolonged whine. "R-Right in the chest…blood everywhere! I tried to stop her…but…she c-c-couldn't hold back!"

"Shh, shh," the woman said calmly, looking over at Chase. "Lock the front door. We are remaining closed until this is squared away." She turned down to Eleonora, who was still crying in a fit of anxiety and panic. "You're coming upstairs to our apartment."

Chase was told to get the girl some water, so he removed his glove and focused as the nourishing, life-giving liquid poured from his deformed hand to the cup. He placed his glove back on as he handed it to Eleonora, whose green eyes were beet red with pressure marks beneath them. Julie sat on their small loveseat sofa with her, and listened to every word from the girl exactly as it was told. Chase was sitting in the folding chair, leaning forward curiously.

"Well…a few nights ago, Nan, Queenie, Zoe, Madison and I used the spirit board to hopefully contact my mother. I don't know if you heard but—"

"I'm sorry for your loss," Julie replied.

"How did you know?" Eleonora asked.

"She's psychic," Chase cut in.

"Well, anyways. The last response we got, the board spelled out 'Spalding', our mute butler at the school. Zoe decided to look up in the attic. She found a huge doll collection, and he was dressed like a woman. Long story short, Zoe sees…" She took a teary sigh, "my mother propped up like a doll. Her arm was hanging in a weird position. I heard a scream from where I was, and I went up with the other girls. We caught him. We tied him up…asked him questions. He's mute, so Nan had to…telepathically relay messages to and from him via the mind."

"Yes?" Julie prompted a continue.

"He lied to Nan saying he killed her to have…ugh…" She grimaced, continuing, "sexual relations with her body…then…oh my god, it's all so disturbing!"

"It's alright, Eleonora," Julie replied. "You're always safe and welcome here."

"Well, I'm not finished yet," Eleonora responded, sipping the water for the first time. "So…Zoe found this…chant, or whatever, to make Spalding speak. I questioned her, because he doesn't have a tongue. Apparently, it worked and…he began to speak, alright. We learned that…well, _Zoe_ and I learned…Fiona killed my mother. That's when Zoe stabbed him with a pair of scissors," the girl explained.

"Oh my…" Chase trailed off, horrified by what the girl said.

"I know, it's a lot to absorb, but I need to bring my mother back. She needs to exact revenge on that…_cruel_ woman," Eleonora replied fiercely. "I want to bring her back because…I don't want to hurt anybody, regardless of how bad they are. My mother was terrible to me, but she was still my mother and I loved her just the same. I never hurt her. She was just…tortured, I think. Something inside told me Fiona did it…Myrtle was innocent and they burned her!"

Julie and Chase looked at the girl with disbelief, and she began to cry even more as the traumatic images raced through her mind endlessly on loop. She struggled to take a breath between sobs but it was so hard. Suddenly, she gasped upon feeling a soft, but cold white hand holding one of hers and another mittened, warm one holding the other.

"We're sorry," Chase said. "Your mother died."

"I know, I need her back! It's bad enough I can't be normal, but its worse when I feel powerless. I need someone…I'm sorry. I don't want to bother you two. I just have no where to go," the girl sobbed.

"You're always welcome here. We're here for you, Eleonora," Julie reminded her, thinking clearly. "You know, I think I have someone who can help. We also will help, too."

* * *

><p>Fiona finally took the advice of the woman she had murdered—she was sitting in the clinic with an intravenous line jutting out of her arm, waiting as each drop of chemo made its way into her bloodstream. It seemed slow and painful, even though it had been her third treatment that week. Although she was in pain, she looked ever so graceful, wearing raven black with her brassy blonde hair smoothed to perfection; not particularly youthful, but still good in appearance.<p>

She suddenly heard faint whispers in the distance, nurses and doctors passing by the cancer clinic with wavering thoughtforms. Some even stopped to talk to each other. Fiona looked at them all strangely as she opened her mind to them.

_I wonder how long they said Mrs. Goode will live. I forget_, thought a nurse.

_Room 156A…Room 156A…_ A doctor was trying to remember the room of his patient.

_I think the team is going to win tonight_, a male nurse thought with a stupid-looking smile on his face.

"What the…" Fiona muttered to herself. "I never had the gift of mind-reading before. Must be this medication."

The voices seemed to continue, and as the chemo dripped slowly and painfully into her bloodstream, she looked over at her arm and pulled the intravenous line out, rolling her sleeve back up and sighing with relief. Even the sound of her doctor's footsteps didn't stop her from getting up from her uncomfortable pleather seat—he approached her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Mrs. Goode, you cannot stop your treatment," he told her.

"Yes, I can," she retorted.

"In order to get better and show signs of improvement, you must resume your treatment," the repeated.

"No. Not today. I have already had three treatments this week. It's too much," Fiona whined. "I could be doing something else more enjoyable with my time."

"Such as?"

"Well…I'm not ready to go quite yet," Fiona said sadly.

"What makes you think you're going to go?" the doctor asked worriedly.

"I was told I won't last the year. I'm only in treatment to be there to take care of my daughter for longer," Fiona responded, taking a seat back in the chair and crossing her legs gracefully. "I think all I want now is to belong to somebody. Is it too late for that?" The doctor chuckled, looking down at his clipboard as he gave a nonchalant response.

"No, I don't think so. My mom actually met someone on eHarmony, and they recently went on a cruise up to Nova Scotia."

* * *

><p>"This is disgusting, enough to make me puke."<p>

The following night, just before midnight, Eleonora, Julie, Chase and Misty, were finishing up on fixing the wound in the throat of Helen's corpse. The freckled blonde plucked the maggots out of their colony in the area where her throat had been slit, resisting the brutal, overpowering odor of decay as she gagged every few minutes. She purposely had not eaten as to not throw up during the two hours spent cleaning up blood, wiping off the bright red lipstick that had been smeared with a fly stuck in it, and even forty-five minutes was devoted to trying to push Helen's arm back into its socket where Spalding had accidentally dislocated it. Chase and Misty had worked on that portion, and the swamp-dwelling witch even applied her special poultice when Eleonora and Julie finished removing maggots and stitching it up carefully.

"Alrighty," Misty said, applying the last bit of poultice over the stitched wound before looking over at Eleonora. "You ready?"

"Y-Yes," she replied nervously.

"Don't be nervous," Julie encouraged. "Chase and I are going to concentrate in sync with you. We will send our energy to you two as you perform the resurrection."

Misty and Eleonora positioned themselves near the table upon which Helen's corpse was, hovering their hands over it as they concentrated long and hard. They soon sensed Julie and Chase drawing near, holding their hands over the body in the same fashion, their minds in perfect unison. Misty's powers brought her brain and lung function back to life, while Eleonora's caused her heart to pump the blood that had pooled to lividity throughout her body. At the peak of their concentration, a few candles that had been lit went out, and Julie glanced over in the darkness, seeing the eyes of the corpse open wearily before jerking its top bodily half upward. The corpse was now alive and thriving, choking excessively, trying to reach her once stiff arms up to her throat.

"Mom?" Eleonora asked, her green eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness in the vicinity. "I can't see a thing. It's so dark in here!"

"I can," Julie said quietly. Chase whispered casually.

"She can see at night."

"Mrs. Mortenson?" Julie asked. "You're alive now."

"Geirdís? Ingibjörg? Agneta? Fröja? Yngvild? Silje?" the revived corpse called out between brief episodes of choking. "_Mamma_? _Mormor_? Vart tog ni alla vägen? Du var bara här! Säg inte att du skickade mig till helvetet!" Julie looked extremely confused, walking over to light the candles that had gone out during the resurgence ritual.

"Old Norse?" she asked, bewildered by how fast the revived woman was talking. "What is she saying?"

"No, I think it's Swedish. She was fluent in Swedish before she died. I think she's saying some names," Eleonora said, relieved that there was some light back in the room.

Looking at her mother's revived being, she looked and noticed that her hair was no longer brilliantly platinum—it was washed-out and tanner in color, a dark blonde shade. Her eyes were no longer fiery hazel, but they were light brown; still very intense, nonetheless. Her presence seemed somewhat different than before, and as she sat up, the changes seemed noticeable; though she still had marble white skin, it looked slightly more aged with distinct lines beneath her high cheekbones and at the corners of her mouth. Eleonora looked over at Misty, who stared down at the revived corpse.

"Mrs. Mortenson?" she asked. "What're you sayin'?"

"You dumb girl!" the resurrected woman screeched, her eyes like knives at her freckled blonde daughter. "I didn't teach you anything!"

"Mom!" Eleonora was shocked, but at the same time not; _her temper hasn't changed_, she thought.

"Please, you have to calm down, ma'am," Julie said, putting her hands on her shoulders.

"Ow!" Helen looked down, seeing her shoulder still dislocated. "Get me to a doctor! What the hell?! I'm all disheveled!" Her newly light brown eyes peered angrily at Julie. "And _you_, get the fuck out of my face!"

"Stop it!" Eleonora replied emphatically. Suddenly, a thunder crash was heard outside, and lightning struck a tree near the swamp.

_KA-CRASH!_

"AHH!" Chase shouted, jumping out of fear. "Make it stop!"

"Chase," Julie began. She shifted her eyes to Misty. "Take him aside, please."

Misty and Chase walked away, but they managed to keep their eyes on the corpse that was just revived, and Julie and Eleonora still stood at the sides of the table. The woman with ice-blonde hair tried to calm her down while the resurrected woman's daughter gazed at her mother and the physical changes that had overcome her once white, flawless beauty. Julie squirmed slightly, taking a deep breath as she walked closer to a calm and stationary Helen.

"We resurrected you, ma'am," the woman with snowy blonde hair said calmly. "We aren't here to hurt you. Please…tell us what happened to you?"

"Oh, I will," Helen sneered, "but first. I need a cigarette."

**A/N:**

**Hope everyone had a nice holiday with lots of gifts, food and festivities (whatever it is that you may celebrate). I sure did, but even after the holiday festivities, I felt compelled to write even more!**

**So Helen is back…let's see what happens!**

**Please leave feedback in the ****Review****s, and ****Favorite/Follow****.**

**Thank you and happy reading! **


	20. Chapter 20

Kyle was definitely showing improvement, but his motor skills were going to take some time to fully return back to normal, as if he never died. His memory, courtesy of the spell Julie helped the coven cast some time before, seemed to return slowly. Zoe entered her room to see him sitting there, smiling softly and sadly as she recalled the first memory he shared with her. It had been something about praising the band Toto and tattoos with the fraternity brothers and how he refused to get one in order to preserve a good reputation. He had goals of becoming an engineer after college. Zoe watched even more as Kyle rolled up his sleeve, looking down to see the insignia of his former frat house, Kappa Lambda Gamma, on his upper arm.

"Kyle," she said, getting on the floor and crawling over to him; he glanced over and tried to say her name.

"Z-Zoe?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, sighing sadly. "I'm so sorry Kyle."

"Hm," he grunted emotionlessly.

"I remember that night at the party when I saw you," she continued. "You were…everything a girl would ever want. Very…nice, friendly…kind…I never thought you would suffer like this…and for that, I am deeply sorry for what we've done to you." She became tearful, and Kyle looked at her with his unwavering dark brown eyes. "I was so selfish…"

His unwavering gaze noticed that Zoe's hands were behind her back. He turned his head to see that her right hand was gripping tightly onto a small pistol, and he gasped, but not out of fear for his life. He was shocked. He knew of his feelings for Zoe, and understood why she felt so bad for him. Since being resurrected, he hadn't been the same. He had bludgeoned his own mother to death, he had complied with the girl to abandon Misty at her marsh shack…what else could he possibly do wrong? He reached out briskly for the pistol, snatching it from Zoe's hand as she got more emotional, seeing him put it to his head.

"NO!" he shouted.

"Kyle! Stop it!" she begged.

"NOO! No KYLE!" he screamed, using his thumb to turn the bullet chamber to try and get lucky.

"Please! I don't want you to die! Please! I care about you! I'm sorry!" Zoe sobbed loudly. "Don't shoot!"

"Kyle no! No Kyle!" he responded, feeling tears flood his great dark eyes.

As Zoe came closer to him, she tried to be as non-threatening as possible, easing the gun out of his hand and looking into his eyes, putting a hand to his face. Kyle did the same, whining as if to cry, and he held her close. Zoe's eyes widened, feeling his arms tight around her as he tried to breathe steadily; she could feel his undead heart beating faster and faster.

"Kyle…" she whispered. His mouth moved closer to her ear, sighing breathily before answering her. There was a moment of silence broken by tenderness.

"I….l-love….y-y-you…." he struggled, getting the words out of his mouth.

Zoe took a breath, patting his back before he let her go, putting his hands to her face to cup her delicate jawline, looking into her calm, kind honey-brown eyes before planting a kiss on the tip of her small nose. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her heart became nothing but a butterfly in her chest.

* * *

><p>"I don't have a lot of time left. I want to call a truce."<p>

Marie looked back at Fiona as if she had three heads. The Supreme, finally thinking realistically about what was remaining of her life, went to Cornrow City after hearing Cordelia's vision of a drunken Hank with artillery in their bedroom. Fiona knew better about Hank at that moment, and for the sake of the coven's safety, she did not want any more problems, especially ones left unsolved as she approached death.

"A truce? Whatchu think this is?!" Marie sneered.

"I'm serious," Fiona said. "I really want for us to make up to each other. I know our kind have been going at each other for centuries, but I think it is time to bury the hatchet."

"The same hatchet you used to kill my Bastien?! The same hatchet you used to crack open that cracker-ass bitch's coffin?! NO!" Marie stormed.

"I won't last the year," Fiona said. "Hair has been falling out due to the chemo."

"Why should I give a damn?!" Marie replied. She thought for a moment, finally snapping out of her rage. "Do you want something from me?"

"A truce," Fiona said.

"No, you dumb _witch_! I meant something else!" Marie yelled. "Name it, and I will ask for something in exchange. You want a truce so bad, you gon' get one, but on _my_ terms."

Fiona thought for a moment, remembering the day she came to the salon for a restyle of her haircut. She had asked Marie what had kept her young all those years, and how 'good black don't crack'. They certainly weren't wrong about that, according to the Supreme. She peered at the woman with long, braided, coarse hair, dark eyes and fine, smooth chocolate-colored skin solemnly.

"Tell me," Fiona began, "how have you stayed so young all these years?"

"That all?" Marie asked.

"Yes. Please tell me," Fiona said.

"Well…centuries ago…I made a deal," she replied. "Papa Legba. The great_loa_ of voodoo magick. He said he would let me live forever…under one condition."

"Which is?" Fiona questioned, sitting down with Marie.

"I would have to sacrifice one innocent soul to him each year," she continued. "Every year I have killed mostly children to fulfill my part of the deal. In fact, my time is coming up to do it once again, and I need an innocent soul to give to him."

"Name what you want in return for your secret, Laveau," Fiona answered. "I will attempt contact with this…_Papa Legba_ myself, but tell me what you want in return."

"One of your witches," Marie said directly.

"Oh," Fiona said, looking down fearfully; Marie noticed her possible sign of weakness and attacked it sharply with her wit.

"What? _Afraid_ now?!" she spat.

"N-No," she said. "I will give you one of my witches for your sacrifice. When do you need her by?"

"By the next full moon," Marie said without hesitation.

Fiona proceeded to light a cigarette and walk out of the entrance of Marie's back room, slinking gracefully like a succubus. Her stilettos, pointed and black, hit the hard wood floor, and Marie watched her, thinking of something else she wanted so badly she could taste the venom of revenge on her tongue.

"Oh, Fiona?" she boomed. The Supreme turned around, putting on her black sunglasses as she blew out smoke from her cigarette.

"What?"

"Bring me that fat-ass cracker, too," the voodoo priestess ordered.

* * *

><p><em>HISSSSSS…<em>

Helen had not lost her touch, even after being dead and revived again—she managed to light her third cigarette of that night with her pyrokinesis, the power that, according to her ancestors on the Other Side, ruined her life. She took her first drag, looking at the three witches and the man with them, continuing her story in a rough, husky, yet feminine voice.

"Yup, Fiona slashed my throat. She wanted me to kill her, but I didn't," she said, her newly light brown eyes piercing at a seated Eleonora. She chuckled dismissively, flicking her wrist as she held her cigarette. "Huh, I saw you and your friend kill the butler. I never knew you had it in you, but I guess when I'm not around, you seem to grow a pair."

"I didn't kill her. Zoe did," her daughter replied.

"Dumbass, you're guilty by association," Helen sneered.

"Why must you talk down to your daughter like that, ma'am?" Misty interjected firmly.

"It's none of your business, she's not _your_ daughter. Stay out of it," the revived woman scoffed, taking another long drag from her cigarette. "Either way, Ellie-girl, I'm proud of you. That guy gave me the creeps, and when I looked from the Other Side to watch what you guys were doing, I was scared shitless knowing he had my body in his doll collection. Sick fuck."

"Ew," Misty grimaced.

"I want that bitch Fiona to pay. I don't care if she dies trying, she _will_ pay for what she's done to me," the woman pledged. "I would burn her to smithereens or give her a heart attack, but quite frankly, I think even that's a waste. It's too good for her."

"Has death softened you up, mom?" Eleonora asked.

"Hell no, I'm still an evil witch-bitch," Helen said.

"Why'd she slash your throat? I still don't understand," Misty cut in.

"Because she wanted me to kill her and I wouldn't," Helen replied harshly in a rough whisper. "She thought I was the next Supreme."

"_What?_" Eleonora asked with incredulity.

"Yup," Helen began, taking another drag. "Fucked up, really, the whole thing. I'm more powerful than she is, but…that's just a retarded reason to kill me. What, was she fucking jealous?"

"Don't curse, it isn't nice," Chase finally said, fed up with her swearing.

"Oh god, not you again. Are you that retard who was waving at me that day?" she barked.

"HEY!" Julie shouted. "Stop it! Don't you dare talk about my brother like that!"

"I'm serious, though, buddy, you have the brain of a bastard rat. Listen to yourself, you sound so stupid! Were your parents cousins?" Helen chided. "Hell, I'm blonde. What's your excuse, pea-brain?"

As Chase was insulted by Helen's rapid-fire remarks, his gray eyes began to well generously with thick, globby tears; his breathing accelerated, and he felt every one of his feelings being impaled by the woman's dirtied red stilettos. Helen's face was remorseless, and Julie was beyond angry as her twin brother burst out crying—he was a bit too sensitive for a grown man. Eleonora looked in horror, but she didn't know what to say. Misty approached Chase and put an arm over his shoulder, leading him toward the door of her shack as her blue eyes stabbed Helen's.

"You've barked up the _wrong tree_, Mrs. Mortenson," Julie grunted through gritted teeth. "How _dare_ you?!"

"How dare I? I'm only speaking the truth, little miss albino-bitch," the revived woman retorted. "The horrifying power of the human sex drive is sickly demonstrated by the fact that someone was willing to father that retard brother of yours."

"HEY! That's enough! The next insult you say, I'm going _berserk_ on your ass!" Julie barked. "As a matter of fact, we never _met_ our parents, thank you very much!"

"Well, be glad you didn't," Helen hissed, stumbling to her feet from her chair, looking up at the tall, striking woman with platinum, snow-colored hair. "In fact, why don't you send them some used toilet paper and get back in credit with them? I dare you!"

"You have _some_ nerve! We brought you back from the dead, and this is how you _repay _us?!" Julie asked forcefully. "Are you for real?"

"Mom, _please_," Eleonora ordered timidly. "Just…stop it."

Misty was outside consoling Chase—the half-moon was up in the sky, illuminating the cattails and lave of the marsh's water in those wee hours of morning. His tears still continued to fall, and he sobbed uncontrollably as his bohemian, fair-haired friend tried to console and calm him. Chase's feelings were really hurt, especially since he had been called 'stupid' and a 'retard' so many times. He would've shrugged it off, but he couldn't—Helen was so cruel.

"She's so mean," he whined.

"I know, I know. You ain't a retard," Misty said, his head still on her shoulder.

"I may be really stupid, but I have a heart. Oh, it hurts," he cried, putting a gloved hand to his chest. "I've been made fun of so much. I never do anything right. I'm so stupid. People laughed at me in the orphanage because I'm ugly. I can't help it! I can't even tie my own shoes!"

"Aw, Chase, it's alright. You ain't stupid, believe me," Misty said, letting him go to get him to look at her. "Look at me." He did, his lips pursed into a frown; her eyes seemed to glitter hope into his soul like confetti at a birthday party. "You're…_special_."

"My sister says I'm special, but I don't _feel_ special," Chase replied.

"Chase, you're a _very_ good friend. The day I met you two, I knew I was never gonna be lonely again. Once, I thought to myself '_Misty, you ain't your best if you haven't found your tribe yet_'. Now, I feel like I have. You and Julie 're amazin' people. Julie's a master at her craft, and you…" She looked into his gray eyes, which began to fill with optimism, "you are kind and…_strong_. People fear what they don't understand, and they don't understand how good of a person you are. You're truly a blessin', Chase, and the sooner you realize that, the whole world'll be in the palm of your hand."

There was an awkward silence—Misty eased his gloved hands into her own, and he winced slightly in fear.

"Speakin' of hands, why do you wear these?" Chase gulped.

"Because I'm ugly," he said sadly. "I don't want people to see."

"Not even me? I'm your friend, Chase," Misty said softly, her blue eyes persuasive.

"N-No, you can't see. Miss Jackie gave me these. They're special. I wore them to make the kids stop making fun of me," he explained. Misty let her fingertips roam the soft-knit, heather gray fabric.

"Well, they're very nice mittens," she said kindly. "But aren't you hot?"

"No." Chase looked at Misty, who leaned in—he was confused for a moment, but when she planted a kiss on his wet cheek, he looked at her and blushed, smiling slightly.

"I won't tell anyone," Misty said. "It'll be our secret. I'll give you your glove back. I'll even help you put it back on you."

Chase sighed, tears running down his face even more as he slowly extended a hand to Misty, who slowly removed the heather gray mitten only to gasp at the strange deformity he was afflicted with from birth—his hand was split slightly down the middle, and there were only two fingers present, his thumb and smaller finger. With the same size of the average adult human hand, Misty was not at all afraid of Chase even after seeing why he wore the gloves every time she saw him. The man felt anxiety turn to calmness when he felt her fingertips caressing his malformed hand; his hands were so soft and supple. Her blue eyes glittered at him and she smiled.

"Don't you worry about that grouchy lady in the shack," Misty reminded him. "She'll be out and gone soon."

* * *

><p><em>Bring me one of your witches<em>, Marie had said, _and bring Delphine's fat cracker-ass._

Fiona's mind raced like crazy when she came home from Cornrow City. Marie's requests had been a bit much, but she didn't want to show any signs of weakness as the Supreme. One of her witches and Delphine, given as a piece offering. Then again, Delphine had become Queenie's personal slave. _Slave_; a piece of property, so what difference would it have made? In Marie's mind, she gave her immortality, and she could take it away just as easily.

There were three German Sheppard dogs around the vicinity of the house, providing watch for witch hunters or any intruders, especially her own son in-law. For all she knew, Cordelia's vision was crystal clear and accurate; since being blinded, she seemed to get a clearer second vision. Fiona walked up the grand staircase of the academy to retire to her bedroom, hearing one of the dog's whine as she made it to the very top of the stairs. She walked down the hall, her stilettos hitting the stone floor as she kept her gaze forward to see no one but Kyle patting the head of and being licked by one of the guard dogs. Gasping, Fiona was shocked—_where did he come from_, she thought to herself.

"Another goddamn boy," she sneered to herself. "Geez, these girls!"

Kyle remained in his place, patting the dog and letting its tongue lap at his face. He seemed ignorantly content; Fiona did nothing to stop the undead young man.

* * *

><p>Eleonora, Julie, Chase, and Misty did not return Helen to the academy until two that morning, and when they did, they made sure they were silent as to not attract the attention of Fiona. Lucky for them, she had already retired to bed and was in a deep sleep, and everyone else seemed to be asleep as well; at least, so they thought. The four witches and the man with them gasped to see Nan standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at them curiously.<p>

"Why were you out?" she asked, making her way down the stairs toward the group.

"Uh…" Eleonora did not have much to say; she was speechless.

"We had to make her alive again," Chase said.

"You're the ones from the store," Nan remembered.

"Yeah," Julie said. "Why are you still awake?"

"I…I sensed someone coming in," Nan explained briefly. "I came down to see who it was." She looked at Eleonora curiously, finally approaching them as she alighted from the steps. "Your mother is here again, I see."

"We…we resurrected her," the freckled blonde said shyly. "Fiona _did _kill her."

"Oh my god," Nan said, looking down. "W-What are we going to do?"

"Listen, Nan," Julie said, approaching the girl with her soulful gray eyes looking down at her persuasively as her hands went to her shoulders. "We have a plan. Don't tell anyone just yet that we resurrected Mrs. Mortenson. If Fiona finds out, Eleonora will be in trouble. We will _all_ be in trouble. Tomorrow night, we are all going to meet."

_Why? _Nan asked telepathically; no words were said, but Julie got the message, and responded to it in kind.

_Because we are all in grave danger_, Julie's telepathy responded; she wanted to spare Chase's worries by not saying, but thinking. Nan smiled up at her and nodded.

_I won't tell anyone_, she thought.

_Good. Now go back up to bed_.

**A/N:**

**Now, the story is coming to a head! It's hard to hold a volcano back when it's already erupting.**

**Please leave ****Reviews,****and be sure to ****Favorite ****and ****Follow****! It gives me the drive to write knowing I have enthusiastic readers, so please take a minute from your time. I appreciate the support.**

**Thank you!**


	21. Chapter 21

"Are you for real, Eleonora?! You resurrected her?" Madison asked with disbelief.

The meeting was near Misty's marsh home, and a campfire had been ignited by Helen, who loved the plan they were about to come up with to get revenge on Fiona and in turn protect the rest of the coven from the dangerous acts she has committed. Madison and Zoe were resistant to the idea, but it took a sharp tongue and fierce convincing to get their views to change—after all, taking out Fiona would save every one of them, the initial four thought.

"Look, you snotty little cumrag!" the revived woman hissed, blowing smoke from her cigarette. "What happened to _me_ could've happened to any of YOU! Alright?! Fiona _killed_ me! I came back with the help of four of you, and I want not only revenge, but I want for the rest of you to be safe!"

"So hag-rag wants revenge? And she wants us to be safe?!" Madison retorted. "That makes _tons_ of sense!"

"Just listen, alright?" Misty asked, looking at Julie as the white-haired woman began to speak.

"I've devised a plan, well, _we_ have," she began, looking down at her silver Thor's Hammer amulet.

"Great, let's hear it," Madison sneered sarcastically, tossing her hands in the air.

"Madison, shut up!" Queenie ordered. Julie took a deep breath and sighed, looking at everyone in their fire-side gathering as she began to speak.

"We are not going to kill or do harm to Fiona, so to speak. We are going to…make her commit suicide," the woman explained. Helen scoffed.

"So we're technically killing her, either way," the revived witch retorted, taking a short drag on her cigarette. "My god, the inbreeding is certainly obvious in your family!" Julie's jaw dropped, her soulful gray eyes angrily staring at the woman she had helped revive for a moment of silence.

"Are you finished? Can I continue?!" the striking woman with ice-blonde hair asked emphatically.

"Well, excuse _me_, I didn't think there'd be a fucking finish line," Helen sneered.

Julie ignored Helen and how spiteful she was being, even though she was really getting on her nerves with uncalled-for insults and snide remarks. She shook her head and continued.

"There is a ritual that one of you have the parchment to that you brought today," she continued.

"The Sacred Taking," Queenie said, taking out the fine, old, rolled-up piece of paper from her bag and handing it to Julie, who in turn handed it to Misty as she stood up to look at her brother, Eleonora, Helen, Madison, Queenie, Zoe, Nan and Misty; it was as though she were the teacher and they were her students.

"Fiona's not going to kill herself," Madison warned.

"How do you know?" Julie asked. "It won't be on our hands. She'll have no one to blame but herself." She glanced at Chase, continuing. "Nine is a powerful number. We can all pitch in."

"What will happen to us?" Eleonora asked shyly, her green eyes illuminated by the fire.

"We will need to perform the Seven Wonders to determine the new Supreme," Misty cut in.

"The structure of the coven will change," Zoe said with worry.

"Great change is needed," Julie responded. "Like Helen said, Fiona could've slit _any _of our throats just so she could continue being in her position. It isn't fair. We all have the potential to be a Supreme, either a positive reinforcement on the coven…or the downfall of us all." She began to pace, keeping her eyes on each of the members in their late night gathering. "I say we fight."

"Fight?" Eleonora asked. "But we—"

"This _is_ a fight. A fight for our protection. Our safety. When I was accepted into the, quote, 'elite boarding school' years ago, they claimed it to be a safe place. Well, tables have turned and people have died. Myrtle Snow was innocent, but still burned to death after being framed for_your_ murder, Helen," Julie explained, bringing up a point that the other nodded to in agreement. Her eyes had been focused on the woman, whose newly light brown eyes peered up at her.

"What will the Sacred Taking actually consist of?" Zoe asked.

Julie had not looked at the ritual herself, so she carefully opened the parchment paper, unrolling it to look down at the scripted text, reading aloud the preface to the witches in the gathering as the fire consumed the bundle of sticks in the center.

"The Sacred Taking," Julie repeated, still reading, "it says here that it is a ritual used in times of crisis to preserve the coven…" Her eyes travelled down the page, skimming what she had just read and absorbed, "it has been performed only three other times in history…." She read the last part loudly and clearly, "The first time this ritual was performed was in 1692. The coven had to flee south away from Salem to avoid persecution. The reigning Supreme at that time, Prudence Mather, suffered from consumption, and knew she would be too weak to make the journey. She gathered her witches and invoked the Sacred Taking…" She paused to gather her thoughts, "by far, it is the most hallowed sacrifice a Supreme can make."

"Oh god," Eleonora sighed, fixing her light blonde hair. "How are we going to do this?"

"We are all in this together," Julie said.

"What if we fail? What if Fiona kills one of us?" Eleonora asked worried.

Julie walked over to where she was sitting and crouched majestically, her long, light-colored skirt falling to the moist, dirt ground of the area near Misty's marsh as her snow white hair glowed in the light of the fire like freshly-fallen snow blanketing the earth. Their eyes met, and Julie nodded, recalling the many words of wisdom she had learned through her years of spiritual truth and mystic journeys.

"It is better to fight and fall," she whispered, "than to live without hope." She sprung to her feet once again, looking at the rest of the witches in the gathering; Zoe and Madison both looked up at her with awe; "it is better to stand and _fight_! If we run, we will only die tired. That's no way to be! Let's show Fiona where her place in this world is!"

* * *

><p>Delphine never thought she would be eating a hamburger and fries alone, especially in a crammed cage. She remembered Queenie, her friend by strange circumstances, and how she had shared her first fast food meal with her. Strangely enough, she was wearing a plain t-shirt, and pants. Pants! Something she had never worn, being a woman of her time, so she said. Marie's first wish was complied with by Fiona, who had tricked the centuries-old woman to go with her to get "a new hairstyle"—more like a ridiculously drawn-out torture session. Marie was sitting there, her chin resting in the ball of her palm as she watched her eat.<p>

"You know, when I had the idea to have you brought back to me," the woman said, "I thought of all the many ways I could dispose of you. But I've found it give me great pleasure just to know you in a cage."

"Oh, shut your mouth, nigress!" Delphine barked, a pickle from the burger stuck in her teeth. "Fetch me some water so I may eat in silence."

"I'm not your damn maid!" Marie cackled. "If I were you, I wouldn't be so eager to show my _arrogance _from that side of the cage."

"And what you gonna do? _Kill me_? I can't _die_!" Delphine laughed, dismissive in her tone as she took a French fry and put it in her mouth. "Throw me back in the box. I've seen enough of this world. I'll take no part in a country that has a nigger in the White House. Hundred years from now, when they dig me up again, the natural order'll be restored."

"You're so stupid," Marie taunted, rolling her great dark eyes. "You think I only got two choices? You have no imagination."

Delphine finished her food quickly and tossed the remainder of French fries and the wrapping of her hamburger out of the cage, kneeling up as much as she could to get a better look at her captor and sworn enemy. Her blue eyes were calculating, and Marie approached the cage with a sharp instrument as her fingers fit themselves between the grates.

"I ain't afraid of you," the woman in the cage sneered, "I wouldn't give you that satisfaction."

Suddenly, Delphine felt a sharp pain hit her wrist, and she screamed in agony to see blood gushing from the large gash Marie's knife had left on her. The voodoo priestess held a cup to the centuries-old woman's bleeding wrist, collecting the blood as it dripped—Delphine was in shock as she screamed.

"AHH!" Marie cackled, looking down to see the blood she had collected.

"Well, you're right. This gave me no satisfaction," the black woman said, "we've only just begun."

"FIONA!" Delphine screamed out. "WHY?!"

"Shut up, you cracker bitch!" Marie shouted.

"All you been is bleeding me for your poultice!" Delphine cried out. "Come tomorrow, I'll be bone dry! What did I ever do to deserve this betrayal?! The witch freed me to make me a slave! Didn't Queenie like my chicken pot pie and peach cobbler? I learned to make it just for her! Didn't Helen trust me with all those disgustin' secrets? I grimaced at all them people she killed, even her own daddy, but I still listened and kept it to myself! Get me outta here! This cage ain't fit for no human!"

"Which is why it's perfect for you!" Marie said; she smirked at Delphine before hearing a strange wheezing.

The centuries-old woman in the cage began to clutch at her chest, her blue eyes widened and gradually getting more bloodshot as she struggled to breathe. She writhed in the cage like a fish out of water—Marie's potion, which had been slipped in the food before being given to her captive, was working, and she smiled with delight to watch Delphine die a slow, agonizing death.

"H-Help! W-What the…did you…in my…f-f-f….." All life in the centuries-old woman ceased—she was dead.

"Hm, I shouldn't 've fed the animals," Marie cooed haughtily.

* * *

><p>Nan was washing in the bathtub, minding her own business as the foamy, aromatic bubbles pleased her senses.<p>

Fiona had needs, too—eternal life was her biggest necessity. _Marie will not get one of my witches_, she thought to herself, _I called on Papa Legba, and he told me that the sacrifice should be attained by the one in the deal_.

Yet they hadn't struck a formal deal—Fiona was doing anything to appease the great spirit she wanted to bargain with.

She noticed the bathroom door was ajar, and luckily she was not wearing her stilettos to give her presence away. She tip-toed lightly toward the bathtub, Nan's brunette hair facing her backward. _She seems oblivious_, she thought, _and she's supposed to be clairvoyant?_

Without further ado, Fiona gripped her dark hair and plunged her head down in the bathtub, Nan's body struggling for her life in response to water seeping down into her lungs. The bubbles were huge as they rapidly rose to the surface; the Supreme plunged the witch's head even deeper down in the water as the bubbles slowed down, getting smaller and smaller until they stopped completely—Nan was dead, and Fiona turned her head to see a figure, a black man with a tall hat and fancy, but flamboyant suit.

"Legba! I gave you a sacrifice!" Fiona said excitedly. "Will I be given eternal life? I did what you asked me to do!" The spirit looked at her, his eyes turning white as he clasped his gloved hands together in front of him.

"The deal is off," Papa Legba boomed, his voice like an echo through the bathroom; Fiona's eyes widened, gasping in fear.

"What?! No! I killed her just for you!" she exclaimed.

"You have no soul for me to take. The only soul here I am taking with me is…Nan," Legba explained, extending out and swaying his arm to reveal a bright white apparition-like figure; it was her ghost and she was dressed in a strange costume. Her voice, tender and sweet like in her lifetime, looked down in shock, her translucent hands travelling over the outfit her spirit was wearing.

"D-Do I have to wear this for the rest of eternity?" she asked Legba, who shook his head kindly.

"Oh no," he responded, placing his hands on her spirit's pale-white shoulders. You will find that the Other Side is filled with treats for a girl like you."

"Oh!" Nan smiled grander than she ever had before, even while alive. "Anywhere is better than here!"

"Come, child," Legba directed.

The two disappeared—Fiona was outraged, on the bathroom floor in tears.

* * *

><p>It took an hour for Fiona to finally budge from her position on the bathroom floor as she was curled up in a tight ball, crying out of misery. She had failed, and she was even remorseful for taking Nan's life. She sobbed, even reaching up for her hair at one point during that hour to grip her hair; a few clumps had fallen out and she shook her head only to weep more. Knowing that the young witch would be in a better place on the Other Side gave her some relief as she stood up and walked down the stairs slowly, her back slouched until she saw a flash come from the ancestry room. Curious, she walked a little faster to see the figure of Helen, revived and competent, holding her hand toward the fireplace that had just been light to create the flash.<p>

"H-Helen?"

The Supreme gasped—she was speechless, noticing the physical changes that came to her upon resurrection; slight wrinkles under her cheekbones and at the corners of her mouth, light brown eyes that lacked their fire but instead stabbed like daggers, and her hair, once a beautiful platinum shade, was now a dark, sun-kissed blonde. Her figure, buxom and curvaceous, was the same even in her revived state as when she was fully alive, before Fiona had killed her. She seemed to have a translucent glow to her that added to her once-ethereal, youthful appearance; maybe it was just her long, flowing black gown she was given to wear.

"Surprise, bitch," the revived woman sneered. "You thought you'd never see me again, huh? Well, looks like you have. The phoenix always rises from the ashes. As for you, you look like you just gave the Grim Reaper a handjob!"

"What…what are you?" Fiona asked fearfully, her brown eyes widened in shock. "W-Who brought you back?"

"Well, it seems your ambition outweighs your relevant skills," Helen sneered. "_I_'m the new Supreme. You know, the one you killed?" She scoffed. "I'm not telling you how I came back, but either way, you have some explaining to do. I think we are going to call the council." _Tsk_, she sounded before continuing, "oh, wait a minute, you had Myrtle killed, too! And…" Helen slinked closer, her heels digging into the new rug that had replaced the one drenched in her blood, "I saw what you did to that _poor_ little girl upstairs. Eternal life…" She shook her head, "you have another thing coming if you think that will keep you warm at night. Ugh," She scoffed dismissively, "none of that will matter in the end. You'll be burned at the stake…and we will all be bringing chocolate and marshmallows to make s'mores from the fire I conjure to eat you alive."

"Does…Cordelia know?" Fiona asked, fearful of someone for the first time in a while.

"Oh, I don't know," Helen said in a harsh, hoarse, feminine voice, circling the Supreme as she continued. "It won't matter, like I say. You know, Fiona, I would know myself that the greatest tragedy for a child…to be parted with their parent."

"Get out." Fiona said forcefully, still looking at her in fear. "Just…get out! NOW!"

"Make me, you old prune!" Helen screeched. "Like you say, as my powers grow,_yours_ will fade! Then again, I'm more powerful than you." Helen leaned into Fiona's ear threateningly and whispered: "_I could swallow you whole_." She backed away and continued, "you're beneath me, Fiona. I remember the last day I was fully alive. I told you once, I'll tell you again. I'm more powerful than you'll ever seek to be. I'm in, you're out!"

"Shut up, you insolent whore!"

Fiona raised her hand to prepare to strike the revived woman down; as her hand lowered to her, Helen grabbed her wrist and concentrated enough, using her powers of fire to scald her skin, causing it to bubble enough to create a permanent scar, much like she had done to the back of Eleonora's neck years before. Fiona screamed in horror, collapsing and looking to see the damage that had been done to her; Helen looked down at her as if she were a mangy dog, and put her hands on her hips.

"Aw, poor Fiona," Helen cooed sadistically. "You know, I'm generous aside from being such an…_evil_ witch-bitch." She held open her other hand, showing a handful of large, heavy-duty sleeping pills while conjuring a fireball in her other hand. "I'm giving you two choices. Take these pills and lay back…or I will kill you myself. The choice is yours."

"But…but I—"

"Choose now! Or I'll choose your fate for you!" Helen scolded.

Fiona sighed, tears flowing from her eyes as her brown eyes tried to appease Helen with a gaze, but it didn't seem to work. She looked at the fireball—it glowed with the intensity of the Sun, which was a big ball of fire in itself, and then she looked at the pills. Pills seemed so painless, definitely more favorable than the fire that would scorch her until she became nothing but a pile of ashes. She reached up and took the pills, every single one of them, and she put three at a time into her mouth, struggling to swallow; Helen had brought her a glass of wine.

"Good choice," Helen praised with a smile, handing her a full glass. "Down it with some contentment. You'll be happy."

"Finally," Fiona said weakly, taking a big gulp of the sweet, intoxicating substance. "I'm doing something noble for the coven."

"After all, it _is_ the most hallowed thing you could do," Helen said, sitting next to her as she watched her lay back on the same rug she herself had died on after taking all the pills. "As for this phoenix, she will soar. Lambs will become lions."

**A/N:**

**The suspense must be killing you guys! But is Helen _really_ the new Supreme? If not, then who?**

**Please leave a ****Review****, ****Favorite****, ****Follow****, and if you'd like, ****Share****! **

**Thank you for reading and stay tuned for the last few chapters! **


	22. Chapter 22

Marie was getting impatient—the full moon was only a few days away by the time she found out about Fiona's death. She had already dismembered and disposed of Delphine's body from the cage, and she had dismissed Hank from her service. _A truce_, she thought, _I ain't got nothing from it_. She was happy to see her sworn enemy dead, even though the woman called a truce—what difference did it make now? Apparently their deal was not met. Papa Legba appeared suddenly in front of her, and she gasped.

"Tonight's the night you pay me my due," he said non-threateningly.

"But it ain't the full moon yet!" Marie answered frantically.

"Our deal was whenever I said, Miss Laveau," the spirit replied.

"Oh, please! Not now! It's been a hard day," the voodoo priestess pleaded. He shook his head, snorting what looked like cocaine from the tip of his finger.

"A hard day deserves a harder night," he replied.

"You drink my torment like wine," she said sadly.

Marie Laveau was never heard from or seen again.

* * *

><p>Helen seemed to haunt the atrium of the academy for several minutes in deep thought as she watched an unwitting Julie create small, diamond-like ice crystals from her hands through the doorway of the parlor. Her soulful gray eyes seemed so fixed on creating them that it looked more like mass production of ice diamonds; memories seemed to come back to her relating to ice. She tried to kill her baby by immolating her in a large two-handle cooking pan only for the fire to go out and freeze like winter at its worst. Her freshly-showered scent mingled in with her strong perfume seemed to follow her as she took a few steps into the room, taking a seat.<p>

"Diamonds?" she asked. Julie, distracted, looked over at her and nodded slowly.

"Yes."

"Let me see."

Julie noticed something about Helen's aura as she tried to approach her—she had last seen it to be only partially black with some other colors mingled in it, but now, she was covered head to toe in a gruesome black aura, yet something about it didn't make it that gruesome—after being raised from the dead, it was only natural that Helen would be feeling negative and out of sorts. She wasn't feeling weakened or sick from being around the spiteful, cruel woman; she was feeling sympathetic. Helen took some of the icy, cold diamonds in her hand and they melted straight away, much to her disappointment.

"Why are they staying solid in your hands?" Helen asked.

"Because I never make things melt. I was born like this," Julie said softly, almost a whisper as she took a seat on the same sofa but only a foot down from the pyrokinetic woman. "I…also have second sight."

"Here you go again. I remember that reading you gave me. Where the hell is my rude awakening? Was it when I died?" Helen asked.

"Part of it. The other half is yet to come, and is of great significance," Julie replied. "Speaking of which, when we resurrected you, you kept saying…names. Who were they?" Helen sighed, trying to remember the Other Side exactly as it was while there.

"Ancestors," she replied.

"So is that what's it like when you die?" Julie asked.

"From what I've seen, yes," Helen said, a civil tone in her voice. "You know, I was raised in South Carolina. My _mamma_ made us go to church every Sunday. She also had a Swedish Bible. She was Lutheran." She sighed roughly. "I guess she woke the fuck up and realized there was no God. Just…whoever came before you. Geirdís threatened me when I was on the Other Side."

"Geirdís?" Julie's pronunciation was perfect, and Helen was shocked. "She sounds familiar."

"She was the first in my line with powers. Birka," Helen explained briefly.

"Birka, huh? Do you know where that is?" Julie asked with fascination. The woman rolled her eyes and leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Do you think I'm a retard? I know where my _mamma_ came from, and Birka is in the same country. Go figure. Geirdís told me it's all buried now, I guess," Helen said. "I never cared to visit Sweden."

"I've always wanted to visit that part of the world. I love winter," Julie said with a dreamy smile.

"Touché," the older woman replied. "Not that I care, but I never knew your name."

"I'm Julie," she said. "My brother is Chase, in case you've forgotten."

"Huh, you two remind me…I was sixteen or so." Helen shook her head slowly, telling her story in brief, "I had twins. They were the ugliest little bastards I had ever seen. I was in New York at the time." Julie's eyes widened, paying full attention to the woman and her story.

"I lived there after my father died. My _mamma_ died before he went, and I was just with my brother. I looked at the little baby boy…god, it was like he fell down the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down." She chuckled slyly. "The other was a little girl. Beady little eyes staring into space. Long story short, they were no children of mine. Eleonora is my only daughter."

"You sent the babies away, didn't you?" Julie asked solemnly, staring into the woman's piercing eyes. "You tried to…get rid of them…you…" She looked down at the tattoo of her forearm, seeing a thin line that had been a scar before.

"Yeah. I did. I tried killing them. I bet you could tell," Helen scoffed.

"You're so wretched because…you want them in your life again, don't you?" the striking, ice-blonde woman assumed.

"Not even close," Helen said. "I failed. Trying to kill them didn't work. I sent them to Nassau County Children's Home just outside the Big Apple. Never looked back, and I haven't since." Julie's eyes widened at the woman—_wow_, she thought, _I must be onto something_.

"T-That was _our_ orphanage, ma'am," the younger woman gasped in shock.

"You don't say. What a coincidence," Helen said in a nonchalant monotone as she lit a cigarette pyrokinetically.

"You're…our mother?" the woman asked in shock.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Helen said, blowing smoke out as she upturned her nose in the air.

"No, I'm serious…y-you left us there? We were only babies…I've had to take care of poor Chase our whole lives…you're our_mother_…y-you don't want to see us…we were born out of wedlock…"

Helen grew frustrated with Julie's allegations—yes, every word she said was true, but she did not want any of the coven, especially Eleonora, knowing that the twins were indeed her children from her incestuous union with her own father. She stiffed upper lip until the badgering continued.

"FINE!" Helen screamed. "I _am_ your mother!" She caught herself, covering her mouth with her hands, and Julie gasped.

"Oh my…I would never think it to be you," the younger woman said.

"Come to think of it, seeing you and Retard's faces again makes me remember when I began thinking highly abortion in cases of incestuous rape," Helen chided coldly, taking another drag.

"Ma'am! Can't you say anything _nice_ for a change?! That's terrible!" she replied.

"It's true, though. I thought you'd get the hint."

"What?"

"You are both inbred little bastards! Abominations!" Helen shouted.

Julie frowned at the woman, supposedly her mother, who was being so spitefully arrogant toward her. She could feel tears beginning to flood her soulful gray eyes, and as she closed her eyes to take a deep breath, she could feel them roll down her cheeks only to freeze against her skin. She felt her body become cold as she thought of Chase—she understood why he cried when Helen taunted him and his intellectual shortcomings. Now, she had known why he was deformed and not very intelligent, but she didn't understand how she was still healthy; yet they were still people. The other children in the orphanage never understood that as they grew up amongst them; Chase was often treated like an outsider until Miss Jackie, a counselor at the orphanage and their mother figure, gifted him with the gray mittens he had always worn. She shook her head and sighed again, morosely and wearily.

"Who…was our father?" she asked.

"My daddy was your daddy,' Helen snided, "after my _mamma_ died, he snapped and got lonely. That's all I'll tell you."

"Oh my…god," Julie said, putting her palm to her face.

"Yup."

"Oh my…you know," Julie began, sounding tearful, "just because…we're…uh…_you know_…that doesn't mean we aren't human. We're people just like everyone else. In fact, I…I would say my brother is not as well off as me. I love him to pieces, but…he's…well…"

"A retard?" Helen asked, trying to finish her sentence as she took her last puff of the cigarette.

"Stop," Julie commanded.

"Whatever." She leaned down to put her cigarette out in the glass ashtray before continuing the conversation. "Say, why does he wear those gloves? This city's hotter than hell."

"Why would you care?" Julie asked assertively. "I thought we were 'inbred little bastards'?"

"That's right. I don't give two shits, but that doesn't stop me from being curious," Helen chided.

"Well, if you must know," the striking, ice-haired woman began, "he was born with a deformity. He only has two fingers on each hand. Is that what you wanted to know?"

Helen stood up from her seat on the couch and slinked toward the doorway, swaying her hips in her usual swagger as Julie watched her. When Helen stopped in the doorway and turned around, her light brown eyes looking back as she smirked.

"No one is to know that you two vagabonds are my children," she sneered. "Good luck in the Seven Wonders. You're going to need it, Ice-Girl."

* * *

><p>The following morning, the witches were dressed in black. Two single file lines descended the grand staircase and into the atrium, a succession of great power—a distraught, blind and red-eyed Cordelia walking down next to Helen, Julie with her brother Chase, Eleonora coming down with Zoe, Madison coming down with Queenie, and Misty coming down by her lonesome to compete for the position of the new Supreme in the ritual of Seven Wonders. Eleonora was nervous—<em>I don't want to be Supreme<em>, she thought to herself. Then she remembered Cordelia's words as she mourned Fiona's death: "You cannot choose to not be Supreme. If you are, then it will be."

The first trial—telekinesis, a gift that had been passed down to Helen and Eleonora for centuries, mother to daughter. Kyle had lit candles and put them on the table set up in the ancestry room. Cordelia, who was not participating in the events, stood by and signaled for the time to begin concentration. While Misty, Chase and Zoe were the weaker candidates in this trial, the strongest were Helen, Eleonora, Madison, and, surprisingly enough, Julie, who managed to even lift it off the table besides sliding it away from her on the table. Queenie was at a healthy medium, but she was not as strong.

Next came concilium, the art of mind-control. It was a very strange sight seeing the witches bend the wills of one another. Misty succeeded in making Queenie repeatedly slap herself in the face, and as payback, the obese witch made Misty pull at her long, curling blonde hair. Helen looked at a seemingly oblivious Chase, looking at his gloved hands and pointing at him; was Julie right?

"Take off those gloves," she ordered.

When he did, he paid no mind to embarrassment or humiliation, and once the rest of the coven saw his hands, deformed because they were almost split in two with only two digits, they gasped in shock—it was when he saw them that he began to cry, begging for help in putting them back on. Helen knew damn well, just by looking at his hands, that he was the son she had given birth to thirty years before and nearly killed out of shame and selfishness.

"Please! This isn't funny! You're mean!" Chase exclaimed tearfully.

"Alright, crybaby, put them back on," Helen ordered.

She then proceeded to make Eleonora choke herself while on her knees; Julie coerced Helen to make her stop, and in turn, Eleonora made Julie sprinkle out snowflakes using her icy powers. Kyle, who was forced to carry a platter by Madison, was made to drop it and come over to kiss her before licking her boot. Zoe was also controlled by Madison, who was made to slap herself. Kyle, snapping out of Madison's coercion, walked over to Zoe to give her a hug and a kiss, but the starlet went further and forced him to choke her; in turn, the girl with honey-brown eyes made Madison burned herself with her cigarette—it was when Cordelia, using her second sight to see, telekinetically tossed Kyle against the wall that the trial ended.

"Enough!" she called out.

The coven took a three-hour long break during the evening, where a large dinner was prepared for them in the style of Da Vinci's famous _Last Supper_. Everyone ate a meal of roasted turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, freshly-baked rolls, and three kinds of pie. Cordelia then revealed something shocking: "the Seven Wonders has never before been attempted with an absent Supreme."

Her bright, scarred, blind red eyes cried—she was still in mourning.

Pyrokinesis, the power of fire, was excelled in by Helen when she light all the candles in one room plus the fireplace, but it was quite shocking when Eleonora excelled in the same thing. The freckled blonde was horrified when she used her mind to light a candle, for her worst nightmare seemed to have come true—_I'm becoming my mother_, she thought, _I will never use this power again for as long as I live_. Julie, whose most powerful ability was controlling ice, was not disqualified because she had a power opposite fire, which made it a good substitute; it was the same for Chase, whose power was of water.

Descensum, the art of entering one's personal Hell, was the most dangerous trial by far—each witch laid down in a circle in the parlor, heads adjacent to one another's as they were signaled to concentrate by Cordelia's voice.

"You have until sunrise," she said. "Begin."

During the night this challenge was attempted, and the first to get out of her personal hell was Queenie, who was reliving her personal hell in her old chicken restaurant in Detroit. Madison came in second after seeing herself play Leisl in a televised version of the musical _The Sound of Music_. Zoe woke up an hour after, her personal hell being Kyle breaking up repeatedly with her. Chase woke up next, crying after seeing his personal hell consist of him as a child being ridiculed and laughed at by everyone in Nassau County Children's Home with his disfigured hands exposed for all to see; there was even paid admission to see the one-child freak show, which triggered his crying when he woke up. Julie's personal hell ended next, which included being cold-hearted and cruel, much like Helen, but also in a literal sense because she could control ice—there was even ice water in her veins while in personal hell. Eleonora woke up closer to the deadline by four hours, jerking up after seeing herself overdose with her wrists slit by an unseen entity as lightning struck her to jolt her back to life—it seemed to loop over and over again.

Misty and Helen were the remaining two by the final hour before the deadline; Chase worried about Misty, while Eleonora worried about Helen; yet the earthy woman with curling blonde hair jerked up after seeing herself in science class dissecting a frog only to resurrect it over and over again, a loop. Once she woke up, Chase smiled with joy and made his way over to her, crouching beside her and looking into her beautiful blue eyes with a smile.

"Misty! I was so worried!" he exclaimed, taking her into his arms; she returned the embrace.

"Oh, I hope to never see my personal hell again," she replied, her voice lowering to a whisper, "especially when I have heaven in my arms." Chase smiled and kissed her cheek, helping her to her feet to wait with the others for Helen, who was still stuck in her personal hell. Eleonora got anxious just trying to imagine what was going on in her mother's act of Descensum…

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_You will pay for your wrongs, Elina," a booming voice said as two strong, burly men tied her to a wooden scaffolding while she remained on her knees. _

_She glanced over, identifying one of the men to be her eldest brother, Adam, and another to resemble a fierce berserker. There was huge crowd to watch whatever was going to happen to the woman, who had gotten her timeless, platinum beauty back other than the changes death had given her, and she could clearly see the first row of people in the crowd as her immediate family. There stood Britta and Jimmy, her parents, with the man holding his wife protectively; Adam had rejoined the family, holding Audrey in the same fashion. Christopher held his wife, also; she was named Leanne. Toby and Jules, looking youthful as ever, stood there watching with the hundreds of centuries of ancestors congregated behind them. Britta's long line of powerful mothers, grandmothers, aunts, sisters, and daughters were all dressed in clothing respective of their time periods with Geirdís, the first ancestor with her falcon perched in the fur of her shawl, sat on a wooden, carved throne with the goddesses Freyja and Idunn behind her, their divine auras glowing with radiance as the first ancestor made her sentence._

_"__Elina Darling, you have committed such heinous acts during your lifetime. You died and came here once before, but your children and their friend were kind enough to raise you from the realm of the dead," the woman boomed. "You've abused what we have given you by killing, injuring, destroying people's lives for your own benefit, and you will pay the price." She stood from her seat, gesturing one of the burly men back over to stand behind the tie-up woman on her knees. "In my time, if you were to kill your father, you would be bloody eagled. I told you that once before, and I was not joking when I said I had a good mind to do it. Your mother's begging did no good for me. I am the _ruler_of this part of the Other Side! Now that I have you, I will not let you poison the physical realm anymore with your evil soul."_

_Helen's fiery eyes grew teary, and she glanced over at her father and mother; Jimmy held Britta close to him as her green eyes emanated wet, salty tears into his fine white shirt, his deformed hands rubbing her back as he felt his own heart break upon seeing his once-beloved daughter about to be executed in the barbaric manner her Norse ancestors would've been. _

_"__One cry, one scream," Geirdís boomed, "and your soul will have no hope of redemption." She turned her piercing gray gaze to the executioner. "Begin!"_

_Helen was stripped, her full, pert, huge breasts heaving downward as she winced, feeling a sharp, primitive blade carve into the skin along her spine. The pain and the blood travelled down to where her ribcage ended, and the skin was pulled aside as the executioner grabbed a small, heavy axe to hack open the back of her exposed ribs. They broke within a few strikes, and blood started to seep from Helen's mouth. She glanced up, seeing her thirteen-year old self peering down at her—her hair was long, snow-white, and her eyes pierced her softly as tears fell from them. They were fiery, hazel-green, but innocent—she was pure, virginal, and innocent._

_"__I wanted to be a nurse," her much-younger self said. "You abused my powers. You let the evil take you over…" The girl began to cry. "That's not who I wanted to be!"_

_"__Elina?" Jimmy called. "Come over here, sweetie. It's alright."_

_As the younger self of the evil woman complied with her father, she ran toward her mother and father and stood between them; Britta covered her eyes and buried her own face in her husband's chest as the executioner reached through the broken ribs and ripped out Helen's lungs, jerking her back as blood fell from her mouth—she was dead. The older generations, from Viking Sweden to the end of the Middle Ages, cheered on the spectacle, while the ancestresses from the Ingibjörg on wept for their loss—Helen, or more accurately, Elina, could've been such a good person during life._

* * *

><p>Her hell was on a loop, endless and painful, agonizing humiliation over and over. Her ribs being broken and her lungs ripped out continuously.<p>

Eleonora watched the clock, the stroke of seven, sunrise, approached within second. Worriedly, she sprinted to her unconscious mother, trying to shake her; yet Cordelia's voice stopped her from doing it any further.

"Eleonora," she said.

"Can someone save her?!" she exclaimed tearfully. "Please!"

"In order for her to get out, she must do it on her own," the blind woman said.

"NO!"

In an ironic twist of fate, Eleonora felt Helen's body disintegrate into ashes, something that, during both periods being alive, she was expert in turning things or people into. She was shocked, and everyone watched as the frantic freckled blonde cried her heart out, the ashes disappearing as she placed her hands to her face; Julie and Zoe made their way to her sides and tried to console her, but it was the icy-blonde woman who held her close; _she is my sister and friend_, she thought to herself.

"I…I never got to say goodbye," the girl wept.

"_Shh, shh_," Julie lulled, her white hands running through the length of Eleonora's light blonde hair; Zoe had placed a hand on her shoulder, looking at her kindly with her honey-brown eyes.

"We have to keep going," she encouraged with reluctance out of sympathy. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

* * *

><p>Eleonora regained herself to participate in transmutation, the rapid movement from one place to another; teleporting, to be frank. Cordelia made it into a game of tag, where the witches, even Chase, teleported around the academy. However, it took a turn for the worse when Zoe was discovered to be impaled on the front gates of the academy while trying to teleport to the roof of the manor. Chase was the first to discover her, and he screamed to indicate his fear and anxiety before the others struggled to get her down. She was brought to the greenhouse by the entire group of witches. Queenie had tried to perform resurgence on her, but was disqualified due to her failure. Kyle, horrified to see Zoe dead, remained behind with her as the others left to continue and crouched down to the table, holding her pallid hand as a tear ran down his face.<p>

"You…s-said you'd…never leave," he wept silently.

Back in the dining room of the house, Cordelia was seated with the other witches in her presence; Vitalum Vitalis, the art of resurrection, was the second to last challenge, and it was insisted that Madison try to go and resurrect the dead witch who was impaled on the gate's prongs. She saw a fly buzzing around her and swatted it on the table, only to take it back into her hands to resurrect it—the rest were shocked.

"You could do that for a fly", Eleonora began forcefully, "but not Zoe?!"

"I refuse," Madison retorted.

"You heartless—" Julie stopped herself from saying anything she'd regret.

"Go ahead, say one more thing, Ice-Bitch!" Madison shouted. "_I_'m the next Supreme! The Wicked Bitch of Hellhole is gone! It's _me_! Either crown me or kiss my ass, Cordelia! I'm out!"

* * *

><p>Little did they know that she left the group of witches, tears in her eyes as she went upstairs to the room that had been hers—Kyle was hiding in there, coming out much to her surprise.<p>

"W-Why did you let her…die?" he asked.

"Piss off," she snorted.

Kyle was upset enough over Zoe's death, but to hear Madison's cold, weighted words crush his heart was enough to make him grab her throat with both hands and choke her. She struggled out of his grasp, but he was too strong! She gasped out for air, trying to speak to Kyle to make him stop as his firm grip seemed to crush her windpipe.

"I…d-did it…for you!" she struggled. "I…I really…really like you!"

"You're _not_ a very good actress!" Kyle hissed, his speech effortlessly normal as her life ceased—she stopped moving, and he left the room.

* * *

><p>The coven had gathered in the greenhouse to watch Eleonora, Chase, Julie, and Misty attempt to revive the dead Zoe back to life. It all started with Chase, who failed at the first try and didn't attempt to do it again. Misty, who was beat tired from all the trials they had to overcome, did not succeed even though Zoe's body began to stir as if she were only asleep. Then came Eleonora, who placed a hand on the back of her head and another over her heart and concentrated, feeling her energy go into the corpse before suddenly fainting out of consciousness…<p>

Eleonora finally woke up the following morning from a deep state of unconsciousness, looking around to see that she was on the sofa of the ancestry room underneath a brown blanket of light wool with a down pillow beneath her head. She looked outside to see the sun shining ever so brightly through the window and into her eyes; she felt a hand next to her, and she gasped, seeing it was Misty.

"You're awake! We was worried 'bout you," she said. Eleonora shielded the bright sunlight from her eyes with her hand as she looked at Misty.

"Yeah…uh…what happened?" she asked, disillusioned by the ritual of Seven Wonders.

"You fainted. Zoe's alive again, thankfully," Misty explained. "Julie was the only one left."

"Huh?"

"They've gotta pick a new Supreme, though," Misty interjected. "They're havin' a hard time choosin'. You, me, Julie, and…" She sighed dreamily, "Chase…we're a powerful bunch."

"W-What about Madison?" she asked.

"Found dead in her room. Julie thinks Kyle choked her," Misty answered. "Now, let's get you outta bed. I made pancakes for everyone."

The pancakes were delicious, and Chase particularly enjoyed them. Eleonora smiled to see Chase and Misty having chemistry with each other; he smiled whenever they made eye contact, and he gave her a kiss on the cheek once during breakfast to thank her.

"They're delicious," he had said. "Thank you, Misty!"

* * *

><p>Before lunch began, Eleonora stopped into the ancestry room once again, seeing Cordelia sitting there, her eyes blind and scarred as she heard the girl's footsteps from her favorite sneakers as she entered.<p>

"Who is there?" she asked.

"It's Eleonora," the girl said kindly, walking toward her as Cordelia used her second sight to focus her extra-sensory vision.

"The council has decided," the blind woman said. "We have our new Supreme."

"W-Who?" Cordelia sensed a presence in the doorway, and smiled upon the focus of her second sight.

"She is standing right behind you," the woman said with the same, happy smile.

The figure in the doorway was a tall woman with striking, albeit unusual beauty. The new Supreme's hair was the color of ice, a bright platinum blonde that was styled in a braid that fell off her left shoulder. Her lips were heart-shaped with a full pucker created by the illusion of her clear lip gloss. Her eyes were an intense stormy gray; very soulful, indeed, and made up with a neutral eyeshadow shade with a darker crease for definition. Her eyelashes were not particularly long, but they were raven black and full, and her eyebrows were shaped and filled with light brown pomade. Her face shape was a cross of round and heart, and her nose was straight and perfect. She was clad in a floor-length gown that resembled that of a Viking queen, and it was bright red with a detailed trim around the sleeves and neckline. From her neck hung three amulets; Thor's Hammer, an intricate charm for good health, and her wooden one with a vertical dash through the center. Her beauty was ghostly, to say the least, but her power was beyond anyone's by comparison.

_I'm so happy she's the Supreme_, Eleonora smiled, _she will change the coven for the better. I know it_.

**A/N:**

**I bet you never saw that one coming! Helen didn't even make it to be Supreme, so…well, oh well!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	23. Epilogue

Julie had brought great change to the coven as the new Supreme, yet it was Cordelia, the new head of the council, who went on live television to go public about their existence. They had no reason to hide anymore, but they had every reason to thrive.

They had welcomed fifty new students into the academy, including twenty-four males, during the first four months of Julie's supremacy. She had changed the name from Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies to 'Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Youth'—they were welcoming of both genders and those who displayed exceptional abilities that made them stand out.

Julie had abolished Fiona's previous policy of wearing black—the students were now free to wear whatever they chose as long as it was in good taste.

Zoe, Queenie, Misty, Chase and Eleonora became the brand new members of the council after Cecily, Quentin, and the other former members resigned. They fled elsewhere, one speculated, perhaps to Salem. Salem held no grudges against their kind anymore.

* * *

><p>Eleonora, Julie and Chase accepted each other as siblings—they got blood tests at the hospital, and for once, Chase did not cower from the needle. The doctor made sure he was perfectly relaxed before drawing blood from his arm. Within a week, they got the test results—not only did the doctor find that the twins were inbred via close familial relations, but they found that they were indeed Eleonora's biological siblings. The twins were ecstatic, and Chase had given his little sister a big bear hug.<p>

"Sister!" he cried out, feeling tears of joy. Eleonora smiled at the thought as she hugged him. I can't ask for anything more, she thought to herself.

"Let's go out for lunch," Julie suggested, smiling at the two as they hugged. When he let her go, the woman hugged the girl, welcoming her fully into her heart as her family.

"Yeah! Let's celebrate!" Chase exclaimed happily. "I can't wait until we tell Misty and everyone!"

"No, Chase," Julie said. "Remember what the doctor said." She whispered. "We are _inbred_. There's a stigma attached if the students and council were to find out."

"But you're people just like everyone else," Eleonora objected. "Can't we just keep it amongst the council?"

"It wouldn't be fair to the students. Among us, it would be fine," the new Supreme said.

"Julie, you're being unrealistic. The council is consisted of not only our friends but our family," Eleonora argued assertively. "They have a right to know, and I don't want to keep any secrets. Not anymore."

"Alright," Julie relucted. "The council only."

"McDonald's?" Chase suggested.

"I was thinking the Court of Two Sisters. If we're going to celebrate, we'll do in _style_," Julie smiled, looking at her brother kindly. "The bill is on me."

"Oh, wow! Thanks, Julie!" Eleonora said with a huge smile on her face, hugging the woman.

* * *

><p>When Mardí Gras came on the fourth of March, just five days before Julie and Chase's thirty-first birthday, the entire academy went to Bourbon Street in the French Quarter to join in on the festivities. Because they had gone public a few months before, the crowds all stared at the costumes worn by the council and the students of the academy. Julie turned heads in an all-white costume with a high-low layered skirt, strapless, corseted bodice, white tights, white stilettos, and a white, sparkling mask to cover her eyes. Soon after getting dressed, she used her powers to create a mini snowfall on herself to give her the appearance of a Snow Princess. Chase, who was without the security he had found in his prized mittens, opted for a blue tuxedo with a plain black mask, while Misty, his date for the event, chose a knee-length black dress and a black-feathered mask with a bright-colored shawl over her shoulders. She had tossed out strings of beads and small doubloons to the crowds of eager children, who collected them with enthusiasm.<p>

Queenie wore a flapper-styled dress striped with purple, green, and yellow with a feather-and-sequin headband and glitter on her face. Zoe chose a peacock-styled dress with a feather-pattern in the middle of the strappy bodice, and the skirt was bright teal and reached the mid-thigh. She and Eleonora had matching white masks, but Eleonora opted for a Fairy Princess look with a gold tiara, light lavender-colored high-low dress and a strapless bodice that sparkled white and teal. Last but not least, Cordelia wore an extravagant Renaissance-styled dress with a gold front-bodice and royal purple silk with her hair worn down and loose with a short conical headpiece with translucent veiling.

* * *

><p>The academy's atrium had been open during that night and converted to a ballroom, where the public could come in and meet student witches as well as the witches on the council. A jazz band was playing rapid music to which couples danced to, including Chase and Misty, who enjoyed each other's company. The couple slowed down as a slow, romantic song came on—he felt extremely nervous even though he had known her for quite a while, and she noticed it; Julie was watching him with Eleonora by her side in the distance as they sat on the top of the staircase.<p>

"Chase? What's the matter?" she asked as they swayed.

"N-Nothing," he replied.

"You seem tense," she indicated, raising a finger to trace his jawline carefully.

"Well…uh…it's just that…you know…I think I love you," Chase said with a nervous grin. "I…didn't know how you would feel."

"I feel the same," she smiled, holding his bare, deformed hand in hers as they continued to sway to the soft, prominent saxophone playing in the music.

"Can I have a kiss?" he asked.

The two leaned in and had their first kiss on the lips. Before, it had been innocent kisses on the cheek, but now it was full-blown. Chase hadn't kissed anyone since he was a child, and his first was with a special-needs girl from the orphanage; it had been so carefree and innocent, but now he was a grown man. It was so profound and loving, and when they broke the kiss, Chase held her close, inhaling her sweet, earthy patchouli perfume. _I'm so happy_, he thought. Julie and Eleonora continued to watch as they sat up on the top of the grand staircase, watching their guests party on and dance to their heart's content.

"Aw, look at them," Julie smiled.

"Yeah," Eleonora said, smiling with adoration.

"You haven't danced with anyone, I notice," the woman said.

"Well, I'm…you know, shy. I've never actually partied like this," the girl said. "You haven't danced with anyone either."

"Not really my thing, at least not in a long time. It's still fun to see everyone so happy like this," Julie grinned.

"Not in a long time?" Eleonora asked, glancing at her sister.

"Well, there was someone…" The new Supreme trailed off, smiling fondly as she nodded. The look in her eyes was nostalgic, "it was right after I got booted out of the academy by the council for speaking my mind. I met someone very special, and I loved him with all my heart…" She sighed. "He…taught me the Northern path. I had read mythology as a child but…" She smiled tearfully, "he was adept in the art. He taught me…and he loved me, too. We were engaged to be married…until…there was an accident."

"Oh my," Eleonora gasped with sympathy, putting her hand on her sister's shoulder.

"His car derailed off into a bayou near the highway…I'll never forget how much it broke my heart," Julie sighed. "Chase was sad, too. They became very good friends."

"I'm so sorry, Julie," her sister frowned. "I…I know you'll find love again."

"I have no time. I'm going to be thirty-one in a few days," the new Supreme said morosely. "I'm the new Supreme. I have a devotion to this academy, and I want to devote my time to seeing these students succeed…plus, my brother…he—"

"He'll marry Misty," Eleonora said—the woman gasped at her sister at the idea. _Is it possible_, she asked herself.

"Huh?"

"I think he'll be married," Eleonora repeated. "Misty is perfect for him."

"You know, I think you're right," Julie smiled. "I'd love to see him get married…maybe have some kids. I know I can't have any."

"Huh?"

"I went to the doctor when I was with the adept. He said I'm sterile. I can't have children even if I tried," the Supreme confessed. "You know, it's been a dream of mine since then for Chase to settle down. I never thought he would, but he may very soon. We will be the _best_ aunts to his children."

"Sounds good," Eleonora said. "I never had a boyfriend. I was never interested. I was a loner in high school. My mother was, well, _our _mother was…promiscuous, as you know. She wanted me to date and go out, but I never wanted to. Writing has always been my passion." She sighed. "I don't care if I get married. I wouldn't want children of my own though. I wanted a normal life and never got it. I wouldn't want my children to live like that either."

"Your mind will change," Julie said encouragingly, peering at a young man who stood at the bottom of the steps with his great, dark eyes on Eleonora. "_Everything_ will change. Go."

"What?" The girl was confused.

"He is here for _you_, not for me. I'm too old," Julie joked, encouraging her sister to go down as she was her informal escort, alighting the stairs. The young man had dark features, but his skin was light olive in color.

"I couldn't help but notice you. What's your name?" the young man asked.

"Eleonora," the girl responded.

"I'm Diego," he said. "Want to dance?"

"Uh…" She looked back at Julie, who nodded with approval. "Uh…yes!"

Julie made her way through the crowd, greeting random guests and smiling until Zoe, dressed in her peacock-styled costume, approached her nervously with Kyle, who wore a black-and-white harlequin-styled tuxedo with a silver top hat that was made of bendable plastic. Her soulful gray eyes looked at them and she smiled kindly.

"Are you kids alright?" she joked.

"Well, I have to talk to you in private," Zoe said. "You stay here, Kyle. I'll be back."

"Alright," he said—he was now capable of coherent speech, steady movement, and the violent impulses all but went away.

* * *

><p>"I…I want to go further with Kyle," she revealed. "But I can't."<p>

"How come?" Julie asked.

"I have a _killer vagina_," Zoe grimaced with an embarrassed blush. "My boyfriend before him died while…we were doing it and…I don't want that to happen to Kyle."

"There's nothing to worry about, Zoe," Julie said, looking down at her. "Here, sit down."

The Supreme held out her hands, and Zoe shivered upon feeling how cold they were; they weren't as cold as a nuclear winter, but they were as cold as snow falling from the sky. Julie took a breath and gathered her thoughts, and Zoe did the same as she listened to her hypnotic, sensual voice.

"Chant with me," she ordered.

"_Serpeant of Midgard, get out of her womb,_

_Let not an entry hurt,_

_Let not the feelings burn,_

_Let not a man go early to his tomb_."

Zoe's hereditary curse had been broken. She was no longer afraid of her strange affliction. There no reason to hide, but a reason to thrive.

Lambs became lions.

**A/N:**

**That's all folks! ****_Abominations_****is officially COMPLETE! I think I gotta sit down down…wait a tick, I already am! **

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